Good Lord, she was buck naked, and while he couldn’t see details by moonlight, he might be able to make out that much. She doubted that he’d brought a suit. The last thing in the world she needed was an in-the-buff frolic with a man whose image she hadn’t been able to excise.
“Uh, I’ll come out, only...I need, uh...”
“What?”
“A towel. They’re on the rack over there,” she said, pointing.
The moment Simon turned to fetch one, Phoebe shot forward to the pool’s edge in hopes of preserving as much modesty as possible. He was back in a flash.
“Here you go.”
Taking the beach towel, she dragged it into the pool. “Thanks.”
“Don’t you normally get out of the water before drying yourself off?”
“Gee, I never thought of that,” she said stiffly.
Since he had to know she wasn’t wearing a suit, Phoebe figured he was doing his best to bait her. The waterlogged terrycloth was difficult to control—it kept insisting on floating—but she managed to ascend the steps at the shallow end, dignity intact.
“You can wait out here or in the living room, if you like. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Need some help?”
The dare behind the words nearly took her breath away. “I’ll manage,” she choked out.
What she managed was to run trails of water over her bedroom carpeting all the way into her bathroom. Locking the door behind her, she traded the wet towel for a dry one. A brisk rub rid her of the gooseflesh that always accompanied a night swim, even in deep summer. She slipped into a loose nightshirt with an alligator design that circled her body, then quickly wrapped a dry towel around her head. Even so, her dripping had left wet streaks in the soft cotton.
Barefoot, she cautiously left her bathroom, half expecting the nervy Simon to have made himself at home on her bed. That went to show where her head was, especially since the bed remained inviolate except for the diary. Hurriedly, she snatched the leather-bound journal from the comforter and slipped it into her nightstand drawer.
Through the glass doors, she could see the lights on in the living room. Thank goodness. Maybe Simon Calderon had tired of his games and she could find out exactly what he wanted of her.
SIMON’S NERVES were on edge as he waited for Phoebe to emerge from her bedroom. He’d awakened in time to see her poised at the edge of the pool, her slender limbs clothed in nothing but moonlight. She’d caught him in a vulnerable moment...affected, he’d responded with his usual tact.
Who would blame her if she read him the riot act and showed him the door?
And now that he’d made up his mind to determine the truth about Boone—about himself—he needed her cooperation.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
Startled from his thoughts, he turned toward Phoebe’s voice. She hesitated near the kitchen area.
“Soda...bottled water...juice?”
“Nothing.”
As she made for the hibiscus-print chair opposite him, Simon tracked the path of the alligator wrapping itself around her damp body. The cloth clung to her bottom, molding it perfectly. As she bent over to fluff a cushion, his groin tightened, and he forced himself to look away.
A plastic alligator crouched in the base of a potted ficus near the sliding glass doors seemed to be staring at him through beady little eyes. The hand-carved wooden alligator slithering along her coffee table had him in its crosshairs. And a sketched alligator hanging over the fireplace glared down at him with something like animosity.
Of course, he only imagined their disapproval, Simon told himself.
Other creatures native to Florida—birds and reptiles and mammals—peered out from every nook and cranny, as well, giving him the oddest feeling that he was surrounded.
“I assume there’s a point to your being here,” Phoebe said.
He returned his attention to her. “I’ve had time to think.”
“About?”
“The assumption that my brother was responsible for his and your sister’s deaths.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “I thought you agreed with the authorities.”
“I did. Maybe I still do. Maybe my thinking you could be right is a stretch.”
Phoebe stared at him, her thick-lashed hazel eyes wide. Another wild creature determining his worth? Simon shifted on the couch and wondered at his own reaction. Few things had the power to make him uncomfortable.
Retaliating, he absorbed every detail of her angular face, from the mole at the corner of her left eye, down her straight nose to the surprisingly soft curve of her lower lip. The towel wrapped around her head framed distinctive features that suddenly pulled into a disquieted expression...as if she fathomed his intent.
“What is it you want from me?” she finally asked, voice cool.
With the damp material of her cover-up clinging to her graceful limbs, molding to her modest breasts, provoking a hunger he hadn’t fed in a while, Simon could think of a few things that had nothing to do with family...
What he said was “A truce.”
“I didn’t know we were at war.”
“Perhaps you weren’t.” And the war within himself was nothing new. “But I wasn’t exactly gracious last night.”
“No.”
“What you see is what you get.” He wasn’t being defensive. Merely truthful. “But if you know that going in—”
“Going in to what?” she demanded, exasperation now coloring her tone.
“Partnership.”
“I have a partner.”
Wondering if she meant business or personal—and what concern that was of his, he couldn’t say—Simon clarified. “I meant digging for the truth.”
Expression distinctly suspicious, she asked, “You want to help me?”
“Something like that.”
He was thinking more of her helping him, but putting it that way might get her back up. If he’d expected her to jump for joy—for a relieved smile to erase the distrust—he would have been sorely disappointed.
“Why the sudden change of heart?” she murmured, as if she were questioning herself rather than him. “This from a man who doesn’t care what other people think. Isn’t that what you told me last night?”
“I’m not doing this for other people.” When she still withheld any positive response, he promptly shifted gears. “Two heads are better than one, right? And I have access to Boone’s business—”
“Which is important...why?”
“Maybe it’s nothing more important than another source of information,” he admitted. “One of the employees might have seen or heard something vital to the situation. My point is, together we can play all the angles.”
“Play...” she echoed softly. “Simon, this isn’t a game to me.”
“Nor to me, Phoebe.”
Finally, caution still shadowing her eyes, she nodded. “All right. Together, then.”
He figured she’d made a concession she found somewhat disagreeable. And how could he blame her? He didn’t make nice. Didn’t play by the rules. Wouldn’t pretend—or change to fit in—like his brother had.
Not wanting to lose the opening he’d gained, he asked, “Tell me about your sister’s husband.”
“Vance Laughlin,” Phoebe began in a neutral tone. “Well-to-do Fort Myers businessman. Financial adviser.” She took a breath. “Control freak.” And allowed animosity to creep into her voice. “He likes showing off what his money can buy. That included Audra.”
Wanting a true picture of the relationship, Simon knew he might be stepping into quicksand when he asked, “She married him for his money?”
Rather than being outraged, Phoebe shifted in her chair and cleared her throat. “I think the money was more of a side benefit than the real reason. Audra always went for a certain type of man. Power was her aphrodisiac. Too bad she had to go and marry it.”
“That didn’t make her unique by any means.”
“But she wa
s misguided, at least where it came to Vance Laughlin. I remember a time when she thought his overprotective act was romantic.”
“And you have something against romance?”. Simon didn’t know why he’d asked the question, nor why he was so interested in Phoebe’s answer.
“Not the ideal. Just the reality. Just when it makes women foolish.”
He wondered if she’d ever allowed herself to be foolish where a man was concerned. Or was all her “experience” secondhand?
“At first, Audra was flattered that Vance wanted to know where she was at all times,” Phoebe went on. “That he called and checked up on her, no matter where she went. But his possessiveness got old fast. She tried telling him so. The more she fought it, the more he insisted. Eventually, insistence turned to accusation.”
“Another man?”
“He was certain of it.”
“How about you?”
“Frankly, I’m not sure. But if there was someone, he couldn’t have been important. Audra always told me about the important ones.”
“Like Boone?”
“Eventually.”
Her response made him think that, at least in the beginning, Boone and Audra had kept their relationship secret...undoubtedly because of Laughlin. Audra must have feared his reprisal.
“The final straw in the marriage—what was it?”
“Audra told me she felt like someone was following her. She faced Vance, asked him directly about it. He laughed, said she was imagining things. But the feeling didn’t stop. Eventually, she ran scared. But even with divorce proceedings under way, she didn’t feel safe. She swore she kept seeing familiar vehicles... familiar faces...”
“Was she actually being followed?”
Phoebe shrugged. “My sister did have an active imagination...and yet...I wouldn’t put anything past her husband.”
Obviously not, if she thought him capable of murder. “Maybe we ought to find out for sure.”
“How?”
“From Laughlin himself.”
“Oh, right, we’ll just ask and he’ll tell us everything we want to know.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll think of a way,” he promised. “In the meantime, we shouldn’t close our eyes to other possibilities. Can you think of anyone else in their lives who might have had a motive for murder?”
She seemed surprised. “If this was a crime of passion as the authorities believe, Vance is the perfect candidate.”
“What about Elise Navarro?”
“Boone’s assistant? What about her?”
“She took one look at me and made an up-close-and-personal acquaintance with the office floor. It made me think—”
“That a woman could have done this?”
“Murder is an equal-opportunity compulsion.”
“But one that women rarely act on. And if so, then Blair Ratcliff is a more likely candidate.” When he shrugged because the name rang no bells with him, she clarified. “Your brother’s ex-fiancée.”
Now, why should that surprise him?
“How ex?”
“Oh, about two weeks after Boone met my sister.”
A woman scorned. If not two. He wasn’t leaving Elise out of the equation.
“I’m telling you it was Vance.”
“Maybe so.” She certainly was convinced of it. “But did Audra have any more skeletons in her closet?”
With obvious reluctance, Phoebe said, “Her share.”
“And maybe we should do inventory.”
“She was married to Vance for nearly three years. Those skeletons were old.”
“Unless she did have a lover on the side.”
“I told you—”
“He couldn’t have been important, because you didn’t know about him.”
“Good memory.”
“False assumption,” he countered. “If Audra did have an affair she considered meaningless, who’s to say what the man’s take was?”
“You’re reaching.”
“And I’ll keep reaching until I’ve exhausted every possibility.”
Otherwise, why bother at all? If he didn’t do it right, he might as well crawl back into his swamp.
“Fine,” she murmured, rising. “Speaking of exhausted...”
Getting to his feet, as well, Simon couldn’t resist. “Bedtime?”
“Sleep time.”
“Pity.”
Though he could tell he’d flustered her, she covered well, asking, “What’s our next step?” while leading him to the front door.
“Why don’t we leave that till morning. Over breakfast. You make the coffee. I’ll bring the doughnuts.”
“What if I don’t like doughnuts?”
“Name your poison.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass. And before you leave...” She held out her hand. “I’ll take the keys. You know...the ones you used to get inside.”
She was spitting his own words from the night before back at him—so he added the phrase she’d left out. “Or you could get them for yourself.” He even held his hands away from his pockets.
Phoebe crossed her arms and glared.
Simon was tempted to withhold them just to see what she would do. A fleeting thought. He needed her trust if he was to have her cooperation. Fishing the ring out of his pocket, he dangled the keys before her and, as she snatched them from him, noted her palpable relief.
How naive.
As far as Simon was concerned, if he wanted inside bad enough, a lock would be a mere inconvenience.
PHOEBE REMAINED near the door for several minutes after Simon’s departure. Keys digging into her palm, she waited. Listened. When no vehicle engine started up, her curiosity got the better of her.
How far had he come on foot?
She opened the door and stepped under the portico, knowing it to be a futile gesture. Even with the moon silvering the landscape, she could barely make out more than her immediate surroundings—several homes bordering the pond, a sizeable old banyan tree dominating the opposite side of the road, a stand of untouched cypress crowding the environs beyond.
With her housing development still in its infant stages, the grounds remained more natural than cultivated. There were no such things as streetlights, thank goodness.
Though even if there were, Phoebe doubted she would spot Simon Calderon if he chose not to be seen.
She imagined him as one with the wilderness he called home. Able to adapt to any condition. Masterful at blending with his environment, whether mangroves, grassland or hammock.
A feral being despite his predilection for sharp barbs...
A thought that sent a shiver along Phoebe’s spine.
Hating the ease with which Simon could make her uncomfortable, she was underwhelmed by the sudden change of heart that had prompted him to stay and give her theory a try. Part of her wished he would disappear back into his swamp. But the more practical part knew she needed his help.
Bravado was all well and good, but it didn’t necessarily get the job done, and no matter how much she wanted to, she wasn’t certain that she could prove Audra and Boone had been murdered working by herself. But with Simon’s cooperation, anything was possible.
Would he cooperate, though, or was he playing her for a fool?
She gazed out into nothingness, imagining he was there somewhere, watching her. She could practically feel the power of his bedroom eyes...
Another shiver.
Phoebe rubbed the raised flesh from her arms. One final glance around and she withdrew, carefully locking herself inside. Staring at the keys she’d demanded from Simon, she wondered how long a mere lock would deter him...
The adrenaline that had kept her going quickly dissipating, she turned out the lights and checked the sliding doors on the way to her bedroom. There she retrieved the diary from her nightstand drawer. Rather than picking up reading where she’d left off, however, she stared at the leather cover, traced the embossed
ibis pattern with a fingertip, wondered at the power of Audra’s memories.
A certain danger lay in these pages. At least for her.
The hour was too late...her imagination too vivid...her real-life encounter with Simon too fresh in her mind.
Safer reading for the light of day, Phoebe decided, setting the diary aside until morning.
HAVING LEFT HIS PICKUP near a crushed-shell road outside Phoebe’s development, Simon tangled with an overgrown cypress grove, waded through a shallow water hole and hopped a chain-link fence that wouldn’t keep a trespasser—much less an experienced thief—off the property.
Safety was only an illusion.
He had thought himself safe in his seclusion, allowing the “real world” to intrude just enough to make a decent living. But the real world had come crashing in on him with a vengeance.
First his brother’s death.
Now Phoebe Grant.
He found he couldn’t stop thinking about the woman, even when he tried. Normally able to shut himself off from whatever he wished, his failure in this regard left him with a certain unease.
Thoughts of Phoebe, of her rushing headlong into danger, plagued him all the way back to Marco.
Once in his brother’s house, however, Simon tried distracting himself from concern for the woman by going through Boone’s effects...as she had planned to do the night before.
What had Phoebe expected to find?
Hour after hour he sought some illumination while waiting for sleep to beckon. It was as if he believed he could read his brother’s thoughts by touching his things. By osmosis.
Too bad it didn’t work that way.
Things were things. They had no life to give him.
Finished with the master suite, he went down to Boone’s home office, began to search, tried to keep Phoebe’s image from crowding his mind.
He found himself more attracted to her than was comfortable...even as his twin had been attracted to her sister?
Another link to Boone.
Alike. Too alike? Two peas in a pod...
His fingers hit something odd in the back recesses of a desk drawer. Something metal. Round. Mounted with a stone. Withdrawing it, he stared at what should have been a token of undying love.
A Lover Awaits Page 4
