Veiled Threats (30 page)

“Well, some people think it's boring. Or, like, nerdy or something.”

“Who thinks that?”

But the song ended and he fell abruptly silent, unsure of his next move in this adult ritual. I could almost read his mind:
Do we just go on dancing, or am I supposed to ask her, or what?
Or maybe Zack had forgotten he was dancing at all, lost in cyberspace.

I took the lead. “That was nice. Now I'd better get back to work.”

“I'll come with you!” he blurted. “Maybe I can, you know, help you and stuff.”

“There's really nothing for you to do, but thanks.” He tagged along anyway, and as we took the stairs to the pier level I privately admired his well-filled doublet and hose.
Hmm. Must lift weights
.

“What made you choose Robin Hood, Zack?”

“Oh, stories, I guess. When I was a kid, we had this book of stories. When I got to that shop and saw the costume, I remembered. Robin Hood was always riding to the rescue and everything. How come you're a witch? I mean,
dressed
as a witch.”

I laughed. “I've been feeling a little witchy tonight! But no reason, really. By the time I got around to picking, the glamorous stuff was all taken.”

He stopped abruptly at a landing and gazed into my eyes, too close for comfort. “I think you're always glamorous.”

It was an absurd situation, made more so by the fact that I was suddenly and warmly aware of Zack's body, and my own. If he'd
had a little finesse, I might have forgotten the gap in our ages, at least for the moment. Instead he lurched forward and kissed me, clumsily but with great gusto. It was like being leapt upon by a huge, overfriendly young Labrador retriever. One who tasted like gin.

“Zack, cut it out!” I pulled away and my witch's hat rolled to the floor. When I stooped for it I bumped heads with someone in black: Aaron, coming up the steps right behind us. He returned the hat with a flourish and a barely suppressed laugh.

“Cradle-robbing, Mrs. Robinson?”

I snatched it from him and looked around for Zack, but he had fled. Good, let him go cool off.

“Why didn't you tell me your Web wizard was nuts?”

“Didn't know he was. Must be your black magic working, Wicked Witch. You gonna turn him into a frog? No wait, that comes
before
the kiss.”

“Oh, shut up. Did Corinne find you?”

“No. You saw her?”

“In the ladies’ room. Aaron, I think she's drinking too much.”

“That's funny. I've been fetching her Perrier all night.”

“Well, it wasn't Perrier she was chucking up. Do you want to go look for her?”

“No,” he said, as we came out onto the pier. He stopped and faced me, and the party guests milling around us seemed to disappear. “No, I want to stay right here and gaze at the city lights and say romantic things to you. For instance, I've noticed that you walk in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies. Plus, as a bonus, all that's best of dark and bright meet in your aspect and your eyes. I admit you're not quite as dark as Lord Byron's girlfriend must have been, but you know what I mean.”

I sagged against the wooden railing and took a deep breath of the damp night air. Elizabeth had insisted that the rain would hold off tonight, and she was right. Maybe she cut a deal with Mother Nature. Far out on Elliott Bay, a ferry was lit up like a birthday cake against the black mirror of the water. Aaron and I had begun our spat on a ferry ride, and continued it back at my houseboat, with encores on the telephone after that. But I never fought with the men I dated, never. What was going on?

“Aaron, I'm working tonight. And besides …”

“Besides what?”

“I'm just not sure. About the romantic part.” I noticed I was kneading the brim of the witch's hat in my hands, round and round, and made myself stop. “Aaron, I like you a lot, I care about you, but we keep arguing.”

“Then let's not, Stretch. Let's do this instead.”

He'd been moving closer as he spoke and now he kissed me, one brief kiss and another, and then another, longer this time. He didn't touch me at all except with his lips, warm on mine. He was right, I was the Wicked Witch: melting,
melting …

Then several things happened at once, none of them pleasant. A scream. A splash. A shout of alarm. “Somebody's in the water!”

People surged toward the railing, roughly jostling me and Aaron as we peered downwards. The green-black water of the harbor was dappled with light and dotted with debris: cigarette butts, a paper coffee cup, chunks of sodden driftwood. And one wavering luminous shape, trailing strands of fair hair and edges of pallid cloth that rippled just below the surface, slowly sinking and rising. Two ghostly arms spread wide, the pale fingers parted as if to conjure something up from the depths.

Then the man who made the splash diving in
it
was Donald, the security guard, I recognized his crew cut
rea
ched the body, hooked an elbow neatly under the chin, and towed it to a wooden ladder that rose up along a piling. A cacophony of shocked, excited voices filled the night, and people fell over each other in their haste to help him hoist his dripping burden to the pier.

I stepped back from the melee and called 911.

A Dell Book

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This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2002 by Deborah Wessell

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

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^®
is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

eISBN: 978-0-307-49284-5

January 2002

v3.0