But her attempt at humor fell flat. Simon was already halfway toward the door.
And Phoebe watched him storm out, the weirdest longing welling up in her.
She wanted to stop him. To say whatever it would take to get him to come back.
To make things right between them.
The lump in her throat nearly choked her.
She wanted...
What?
Nothing, she assured herself firmly. All along she’d known Simon Calderon was the wrong man to lust after. He wasn’t casual and easy to talk to. He wasn’t like any other man she’d ever been with. From the first hint of attraction, she’d known she couldn’t control the situation, so why had she started anything in the first place?
And why the disappointment when she’d merely proved herself correct?
Heading for the shower, Phoebe had never felt so miserable.
All hint of physical desire had vanished, and yet she was left wanting something she couldn’t name.
A COLD SHOWER should fix what ailed him, but Simon found the stinging water invigorating to his perfectly healthy libido. He might have stopped himself from taking Phoebe, but that didn’t stop him from wanting her.
Standing naked under the simple outdoor shower he’d installed beneath the bathroom, he soaped himself vigorously, as if he could wash away the effect she was still having on him. But that only made him think of her doing the same directly overhead.
Phoebe touching herself, running her fingers through the soap...
Once the image came to him, it was firmly planted in his mind.
He ought to have his head examined.
Passing up what Phoebe had offered...what had gotten into him?
Over the past couple of days, he’d imagined taking her more times than he cared to admit. The adrenaline rush that had followed their escape had prompted the perfect opportunity. And he’d blown it by pressing her, trying to make her say something she obviously wasn’t feeling.
He’d never done that before.
Not with any other woman.
He’d reacted too quickly. Too strongly.
He never should have delved into the past in the first place.
What had been his point?
Why had he revealed the worst moments of his life to this particular woman? Why Phoebe?
What made her so special?
And why couldn’t he free himself of the image of her all soapy and wet, her fingers threading through the foam laving her flesh...touching herself in the most intimate of places even as he longed to do?
Chapter Ten
“Why didn’t you say something about owning a telephone last night?”
Phoebe had held back the complaint through an awkward breakfast—not that Simon’s appetite had suffered in the least. Great. Any embarrassment over last night’s events was strictly on her side, and she had enough for both of them.
They were heading down the rear stairs on their way to the airboat, which they would take back to his childhood home. There they would trade it for an ancient pickup, which, he assured her, would run with a little coaxing. Then he would return her to the Blue Crab and her car.
Having called his local service station first thing that morning about getting a tow and new tires, Simon had been assured his own vehicle would be ready in several hours. Phoebe hadn’t wanted to hang around that long. Being alone with him was too unnerving.
“I could have called that taxi,” she grumbled as they hit ground level. “Or better yet, you could have driven me back to Marco last night in the pickup you didn’t bother to mention along with the phone.”
Which would have saved her from making a fool of herself. At least he had the decency to avoid mentioning it. Phoebe counted her blessings.
“You would have gone home to an empty house,” he said.
“I usually do.”
A fact that had never bothered her before. She loved her house. The first place she’d ever lived in that she could call home and mean it. Suddenly it loomed empty and lonely in her mind.
Maybe she ought to get a pet. Another Mouthy Minerva to keep her company.
“You don’t usually have someone try to run you over with a four-by-four,” Simon was saying.
“But Bubba doesn’t know where I live.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
She’d already called the authorities to report the incident. She’d spoken to Detective Sandstrom, the man handling Boone and Audra’s case. However, he wasn’t ready to believe there was a connection between their deaths and the attempt on her and Simon.
Yet.
At least she’d planted a seed in his mind, Phoebe thought.
“Detective Sandstrom promised they would find Bubba and pick him up as soon as possible for questioning. They could have done that last night.”
“What if Bubba isn’t the one who tried to kill us?”
“We’ve already been through this.”
Though she’d considered the possibility that Vance had been the one behind the wheel, she didn’t think it likely. He would have had to follow them from the Blue Crab, and surely Simon would have spotted a tail. More likely Bubba had called Vance to warn him they were buying information...and her brother-in-law had paid the man to do his dirty work.
Getting herself into the airboat was a welcome distraction from her dark thoughts. And she was glad enough to put on the extra headset so she wouldn’t have to carry on any further conversation with Simon, who seemed to be in surprisingly good spirits.
Feeling his gaze on her, she ignored him and pretended interest in the local flora. Aware of his every movement, she knew the exact moment he took the raised seat behind her. She settled in even as the engine roared to life. A moment later, they were on the move.
All through the night, she’d tossed and turned, too aware of Simon sacked out on the couch to get herself a good night’s sleep. He, on the other hand, had seemed amazingly well rested over breakfast. No wonder, considering the amount of snoring she’d been subjected to.
Hadn’t what almost happened between them affected him at all?
As they raced along, the amazingly clear morning and still comfortable air relaxed her a bit. She spotted a couple of raccoons fishing at the shoreline, a turtle sunning itself on a log, and an osprey floating on a draft overhead. Not an alligator in sight. With the sun’s rise, the swamp had lost its threat. She could even wonder at her own imagination.
What had gotten into her the night before?
A few minutes later, they docked. Simon jumped down from his seat and tied up the boat. Reluctantly, knowing she’d have no choice but to talk to him, Phoebe removed the padded headsets that had served as protection from him as well as from the engine’s noise.
“It might take a little coaxing to get the pickup running,” he said. “Why don’t you go on inside until I do.”
Of course he didn’t really want to talk to her, either. His good humor had been a front.
“Sure, I’ll be happy to get out of your hair,” she muttered.
“Phoebe—”
She turned her back to him and kept going.
Sunlight dappling across Simon’s childhood home gave it a certain charm that had been lacking in the middle of the night. And the inside, while small, was inviting.
Enough bright light shone through the windows to make the pale yellow walls glow. The furniture might be old, but it appeared well-tended. While she wasn’t into furnishing her place with antiques, she recognized the potential value of some pieces. No doubt they were original to the house, but they looked as if they’d been restored.
Rag rugs hid part of what looked to be a new wood floor, one Phoebe guessed to be of a modern material that would hold up against the elements instead. Boone’s doing, no doubt.
Because he’d wanted the place as a private love nest?
Curious, she entered the bedroom whose door stood open.
The full-sized bed had a metal headboard and was cove
red by a hand-sewn quilt.
Wondering if Simon’s mother had made it, she perched on the edge of the mattress and admired the handmade piece up close. She’d barely gotten a look when a blast of a horn alerted her to Simon’s success with the old pickup.
Rising, she hesitated when something out of place caught her eye—a small object that had fallen between bed and nightstand. It looked to be a figure of some sort.
The horn blew again, conveying Simon’s impatience.
Deciding he could wait a moment longer, she retrieved the fallen object, the figure of a woman. Attached to the small doll were a lock of blond hair and a piece of cloth whose leafy pattern looked familiar.
She’d bought her sister a scarf with this very same pattern several months before, after Audra had admired it in an exclusive Old Naples shop...but Audra had only worn it once before losing it.
Or had she lost it, after all?
Phoebe caught her breath when she realized the pins attaching the cloth to the figure were stuck in strategic places—sexual regions, in addition to the heart and the middle of the forehead.
Her sister had been shot in the head...and a crime of passion involved the others.
Her own heart began to pound and for once it had nothing to do with danger to herself or Simon.
The county authorities lacked proof that anyone other than Boone might have wanted her sister dead. What if she held that proof in her hand?
What if someone had created a voodoo doll in her sister’s image, as a warning, or to foreshadow the evil deed!
WHAT IN THE WORLD was taking Phoebe so long? Simon wondered as the old pickup shook and rattled.
He blew the horn a third time, again to no response. Afraid that if he cut the engine he might not be able to get the damn thing running again, and that if he didn’t cut the engine they might run out of gas, he was getting angry. Figuring he’d better see what was hanging her up for himself, he decided to chance the gas.
A moment later, he burst through the front door, yelling, “Hey, Phoebe, I thought you were in a hurry to get home!”
He didn’t see her at first. Anxious, he whipped around, momentarily thinking something had happened to her. And then he spotted the open bedroom door.
“Phoebe, are you in there?”
She was sitting on the bed, staring at something in her hand. Her face was pale, her eyes huge. She appeared at once frightened and elated. For a moment, she stared straight at him without seeming to realize he was there.
Then she blinked, jumped up from the bed and waved something at him. “Look at this.”
“What is it?”
“See for yourself.”
Expectancy radiated from her as Phoebe hurried to show him the small object.
Carefully examining the figure, which a more superstitious person than he would believe had the power to kill someone, Simon frowned. “Where did you find this?”
She indicated the area between bed and nightstand. “It must have fallen.”
Simon splayed the lock of hair with a fingertip. “Blond. Wasn’t Audra—”
Phoebe jumped in with, “That’s her hair, all right.”
“Can you be certain?”
“Not without scientific testing, I guess. But trust me, it’s as close a color and texture match as you could get. I definitely can identify the material, because it’s a piece of a scarf I gave her.”
“Someone could have stolen the scarf or even picked it up if she left it behind somewhere,” Simon mused, “but hair’s another matter.”
“Women do change hairstyles,” Phoebe insisted. “And Audra had hers cut several weeks ago. I was surprised she’d gone so much shorter. She said the longer hair was more trouble than it was worth, especially during the summer, but Vance had always insisted she keep it that way. I guess she saw the change as another shot at cutting herself loose from him. And since he was having her followed...”
“Whoa.” He could tell where she was going with this and he couldn’t buy it. “Can you really see Bubba going inside some posh hair salon to spy on Audra, without making a spectacle of himself?—and somehow managing to abscond with a lock of her hair?”
Phoebe’s brow pulled. “Kind of hard to imagine when you put it that way.”
“And has Vance ever given you any clue that he’s into the black arts?”
“Well, no, but—”
“So this isn’t proof of anything, just gives us something more to think about.”
“And something to check on,” she added. “Audra and I went to the same hairstylist. I can ask David if anything weird happened that day.”
“If he can remember that far back.”
“And I wonder what Detective Sandstrom would make of something so hateful.”
“What would be the point in telling him now?”
“What do you mean?”
“We have no idea where the doll came from, so you can’t suggest a new suspect. Besides, it’s a little unusual for the purveyor of evil to send the supposed means of death to the victim,” Simon went on logically, “and you found the doll in here—in a house that my brother owned. Who would have better access to a scarf your sister wore than her lover? Or better access to her hair? He could have snipped off a lock while she slept. You’d only be pointing a finger back at him.”
Phoebe couldn’t deny it. And when she asked, “Do you believe that?” her voice was hollow. Resigned.
“No, not after last night. But if you’d put it to me two days ago?” He shrugged. No doubt he would have thought the worst, which he’d been primed to do. And that would have given him yet another reason to suspect his own dark side. Oddly enough, Simon felt his self-doubts receding.
Phoebe appeared crestfallen and Simon regretted that he was responsible for her disappointment. Again. She’d had just such a look the night before, when he’d stopped things from going too far between them.
In the cold light of day, he knew he’d done the right thing. Not that the fact made it easier on either of them. After last night, he realized he wanted more than sex from her—a confusing turn of events, considering they hardly knew each other. And if he’d given her what she’d been asking for, they both would have had cause to regret sleeping together, if for different reasons.
Phoebe brightened suddenly. “What about the fingerprints on the doll?”
“The person who made this could have been wearing gloves. But chances are if Boone had his hands on the thing, he wouldn’t have taken any kind of precautions. Not any more than we just did.”
“So what do we do?” Phoebe asked with a sigh.
She appeared so forlorn that Simon couldn’t help himself. Meaning to put his arms around her for her comfort, he took a step toward her but stopped in his tracks when she flashed him a deadly glare.
Obviously, she wasn’t having any comfort. Not from him. Not today.
He cleared his throat and said, “We hang on to it, for now. And we get you back to Marco. If we don’t hurry, we won’t make it as far as the nearest gas station.”
“And get stuck out here in the middle of the swamp any longer than necessary? No, thanks.” She was already swinging past him and on her way out the front door when he heard her say, “Not in my lifetime.”
Simon narrowed his gaze and followed, muttering too low for her to hear. “We’ll see about that, Phoebe Grant. We’ll just see about that.”
PHOEBE WOULD HAVE GONE straight to Dolphin’s Gate to check on Jimmy Bob Dortch, as she’d threatened, especially since he’d promised to be there at eight and it was long past that, but home was on the way.
Home...and Audra’s diary.
Her sister would never have left out something so sinister as receiving a voodoo doll, and Phoebe meant to discover what she’d written about the curse. Perhaps Audra had even figured out who was responsible.
Besides, her stopping for a few minutes wouldn’t make any difference one way or the other to the work that was supposed to be going on in her mother’s
townhouse. If Jimmy Bob was there, he was there. And if he wasn’t...
She would check on him as soon as she satisfied her curiosity.
Pulling into the garage, Phoebe rushed into the house and filched the journal from her nightstand, then threw herself across the bed.
The voodoo doll obviously had to have been made after Audra’s haircut, somewhere around the Fourth of July.
Phoebe skipped forward a few weeks in her reading and started skimming until she found an entry that made her sit up and take notice.
The most frightening thing happened to me last night...
What could be more frightening than finding tangible and potentially deadly proof of someone’s hatred for you?
With a sense of trepidation, Phoebe settled in to read.
The most frightening thing happened to me last night....
It started ordinary enough. A romantic dinner. A walk along the beach. Foreplay under the moonlight.
But for once, he wasn’t so eager to take me on the spot. I did my best to convince him to try, but he was acting a little weird, taunting me with promises of a delicious surprise once he got me into bed.
The silk ties weren’t just a surprise...they were a bit of a shock. The idea of his tying me up was titillating. And scary.
What to do?
How much did I trust him?
How much control was I willing to give someone I really hadn’t known that long?
Up to you, he whispered, even as he began his seduction. He used all the resources in his very potent arsenal, keeping at me—keeping satisfaction from me—until I had no will to resist left....
Phoebe came up for air. Dropping the diary, she took a shaky breath and fought the yearning that had built in her instantly. Fought the seductive image of Simon that all too readily came to mind. Fought the memories of what had almost happened between them.
Memories that threatened her sense of contentment and security.
But she had to go on reading, no matter the cost to herself. Had to learn what had frightened her sister so badly.
Praying it hadn’t been Boone himself, Phoebe steeled herself and once again picked up the record of her sister’s last weeks on earth.
A Lover Awaits Page 13
