Blair set down her glass and narrowed her gaze at him. “Hmm, I’m getting the distinct feeling this interest in mumbo-jumbo isn’t casual.”
“You wouldn’t have brought back some unusual souvenir?” he went on. “A voodoo doll, for example?”
“Now why would I do that?”
“Because you hated Audra Laughlin?”
“I might make fun of lots of institutions, Simon, but death is not something I take lightly or that I would fool with.”
“Someone did.”
He told her about finding the doll.
“And you thought I was responsible?” She sounded indignant. “That’s the reason for this dinner?”
“Truthfully, I didn’t think any such thing until you mentioned the cruise and Haiti. Besides, who else would have reason to curse Audra?”
Blair sat back in her chair and snorted. “Try that twit, Elise Navarro. She plays the martyr, the faithful woman wronged, very well, when in fact Boone never had any serious interest in her.”
“She thinks highly of you, too.”
“She was always poking her nose into our business,” Blair said. “You should be giving her and her uncle the third degree instead of me.”
“Uncle?”
“The old man who works as a mate on one of the fishing boats. Elijah something or other.”
“Elijah Greer is Elise’s uncle?”
He’d realized Boone’s assistant was of mixed heritage, of course, but he hadn’t made that connection.
“Great-uncle, I believe. On her mother’s side. The Cuban part comes from her father’s family. Anyway, if anyone would know about voodoo dolls, old Elijah would be the one. He is from New Orleans.”
No wonder the mate had looked at him so darkly after eavesdropping on his conversation with Magnus. Old Elijah was protective of his own blood.
Exactly how protective was the question...
PHOEBE DIDN’T WANT to have to think too hard on why Simon didn’t come back for her as promised.
Could Blair hold the same fascination for him as she had for Boone?
Unable to think of another reason he’d want to be with the socialite in the first place, she admitted to unwelcome feelings of rivalry. Not that she stood a chance against someone as slick as Blair Ratcliff. All that talk of her being a woman scorned and therefore suspect was just talk. The socialite didn’t care enough about anyone else to exert herself to get revenge.
And murder?
She might ruin her manicure...
Disgruntled on general principles, Phoebe locked up the moment the last table emptied. Within a quarter of an hour, she had what was left of her staff out the door and was headed for home herself.
No way was she going to wait around for Simon to show his face...if he ever did.
No way was she going to acknowledge her disappointment as being anything more than a desire to hang Audra and Boone’s murders on Vance and make them stick.
Only...why did she feel as if her theory about her brother-in-law was unraveling?
Too many ifs.
Bubba...Donald Platt...Jimmy Bob Dortch...to name only three.
How did they fit into the picture?
Somehow, Phoebe was certain, they were all connected, but tonight she was too tired to figure it out. Hard enough to keep herself going, to keep her eyes open to drive, even with the top down.
Rather than waking her, the cool night air lulled her into longing for her own bed and a good night’s sleep.
And if Simon Calderon had one lick of compassion for her, he’d stay the heck out of her dreams.
Yawns attacked her fast and furious as she turned into her development. Luckily, she could drive the winding route in her sleep.
Away from the denser segment of the complex and arriving within sight of her house, Phoebe reached for the passenger sunshade, attached to which was the controller for the automatic garage door opener. She pressed the Open button and slowed the convertible. Carefully, she slid into her parking spot, which had been narrowed considerably by several large boxes of unassembled shelving and office furniture she’d recently bought for her den.
She flicked the controller again to close the garage door, then cut the engine.
Not until the rolling door cut her off from the outside did she realize the interior garage light was out and that she was stranded in total darkness. Resourceful as usual, she opened the car door and used the courtesy light to identify the back door key.
About to slide out of the seat, she hesitated when something nearby stirred. The fine hairs on the backs of her arms raised, but hard as she strained to listen, Phoebe didn’t hear the noise repeated.
No doubt some nocturnal animal was sniffing around the outside of the garage for food.
Anxious to get to her bed, she left the car and moved toward the door, her exhaustion making her clumsy. She knocked into a garbage can, sending a lid shooting off to land with a noisy clatter.
And then from the other side of the garage, another sound, this one far more sinister, froze her to the spot.
A hiss.
Not a faint hiss.
Too piercing.
No tiny, timid creature this.
Her mouth went dry and her fingers slipped so that she almost dropped the key ring. The noise of metal-on-metal seemed to echo through the garage.
Another hiss.
Too familiar.
How many times had she heard it in the swamp the night before?
A quick movement rattled the boxed furniture. Phoebe envisioned a large, scaly body lunging over the pile. She’d read about alligators getting locked in garages, one of those expected nuisances of living in a former swamp. The idea didn’t thrill her.
Too scary to stick around to find out for sure.
Phoebe flew toward the door, fumbling fingers somehow managing to snap on her flashlight. Thankfully, she could see what she was doing when she shoved the key into the lock.
Problem was...the key wouldn’t turn.
“Damn!”
What a time for the lock to stick. She tried again with no results.
“Double damn!”
Another scrabble and hiss in return—this one more threatening—made her jiggle the handle and throw her shoulder into the door, but neither budged.
More slithering...more hissing...getting closer... what to do?
Her worst nightmare lay not in the wilderness of Simon’s swamp but in the civilization of her own garage. Shaking, Phoebe knew her only escape lay with her car, and that she had to get out fast before the thing got to her!
She flew back toward the open convertible, again knocking into the trash can, which toppled this time, spewing bags of garbage across the garage floor. Rotting food issued a siren’s call to the creature, and it scrabbled closer...faster...seemingly scooting directly under the car.
Trying to keep her head, Phoebe jumped over the closed driver’s door to get out of the way, whomping her left shin in the process. She landed in a tangled heap and fought tears of pain and fear.
Once securely seated, her heart pounding so loudly she couldn’t hear the sounds from below, she had trouble making the key fit the ignition. Finally it took, and she started the engine. But in her haste reaching for the garage door opener, she knocked the control box straight off the sunshade and right out of the car.
“Triple damn!”
The motor was running, but if she wanted to get the car out of the garage, she needed the controller. Or she had to get to the switch next to the door. Either way, she’d have to chance meeting a hungry, maybe angry gator in the dark.
Then, again, she could just smash through her garage door... a very distinct possibility if she was left with no choice.
Wanting in the worst way to scream her frustration, Phoebe did just that. She opened her mouth and yelled, “He-el-lp! Someon-n-ne!” at the same time leaning on the car horn for all she was worth.
Chapter Thirteen
Blasts on a car horn and a woman
’s screams coming from Phoebe’s place put wings to Simon’s feet. He practically flew down the last hundred yards of the road to her garage and banged on the door.
“Phoebe!” he yelled. “What’s going on?”
But she obviously couldn’t hear over the din she was making.
Without a clue as to the trouble she was in, he was desperate.
The lanai!
Simon breached the screened door and expected he’d have to break the guest bathroom window to get inside the house. As he circled the pool, he swept his gaze around every corner, seeking out trouble but connecting with something odd instead.
Part of the sheer curtain at the breakfast nook bunched between the sliding glass door and the jam.
He raced to check it out.
Even as the door slid open, the horn blasts and screams for help stopped.
Heart pounding, praying Phoebe was alive and unhurt, Simon hit a bank of lights, then found the short hallway that led to the garage. The door stuck. Leaping up to grab onto a decorative ledge overhead and praying it would hold, he swung back and let his body carry his weight forward with his legs aimed straight at the door. Both feet rammed into the latch side hard enough to jolt his spine and snap his head back.
But with an explosion of sound, the panel ripped free of the frame and flew open. He landed in a crouch on the balls of his feet, ready to do battle, astonished at the sight that greeted him.
The convertible, top down and lights on, with Phoebe straddling the driver’s seat and one aggressive and obviously aggravated alligator negotiating the bumper, seemingly determined to get at her.
“Simon!” came Phoebe’s strangled-sounding call. “What do I do?”
Once the gator climbed onto the hood, she would be in real trouble, Simon knew. The creature moved fast and she had nowhere to go!
“Door opener?”
“At the wall!” she yelled, pointing.
Picking up the nearest loose object at hand—an old muddy shoe she’d left outside the door, Simon chucked it at the gator to give Phoebe an extra few seconds, while he danced around an overturned garbage can to get at the switch.
As he hit it, he said, “Back the car out.”
“You want me to get into the driver’s seat with an alligator on the hood?”
“He won’t be for long.”
Simon picked up the nearly empty garbage can and, to dissuade the alligator from advancing, tossed it with a loud war cry. The can bounced off the beast, the remaining garbage splattering the windshield and fender.
Eyes glowing red in the semidarkness, the fierce reptile hissed at him, but slid off the hood.
“Now!” Simon shouted.
Phoebe jumped back into the driver’s seat and quickly put the car into gear. Backing it up before the door fully rose, she slid through the opening with mere inches to spare.
And, as he figured it would, the gator sniffed its freedom and made a swift dash for it, slinking out of the garage and disappearing into the dark.
Simon took a deep shuddering breath and let his tensed muscles relax. While alligators rarely went after humans, this one had been both riled and cornered. If he hadn’t arrived in the nick of time—
Phoebe’s head was bowed. Her forehead touched the steering wheel. She remained like that only for a moment before straightening and moving the car back into the garage. When she cut the engine, she sagged back into her seat.
“What the hell happened?” he asked, hitting the switch to close the garage door.
“I happened,” she said. “I spoiled the gator’s nap with all the noise I made coming home, I guess. He got a little annoyed with me.”
“The garage door was down?”
“No. I always leave an open invitation for swamp things to visit.”
“Then how did he get in here?”
“He could’ve been here for a couple of days for all I know. It happens. Only...”
“What?”
“I’d bet dollars to doughnuts the door lock never jammed on anyone else right after finding an unwelcome reptile in the garage.”
“I couldn’t open it from my side, either,” a troubled Simon admitted. “That’s why I had to kick in the door.”
Which meant a closer inspection of the faulty mechanism might prove fruitless.
Why had a perfectly good lock jammed unless someone had helped it along?
Which would mean someone had wanted her to be locked in the garage with a pissed-off alligator...
The murderer.
That led to another string of questions, starting with how the perpetrator had gotten into Phoebe’s house in the first place.
“You obviously need a security system,” he said grimly. “I was able to get into the lanai without a problem, and—”
“Whoa!” Phoebe burst out of the car and slammed the door. “You’re lecturing me?”
“Someone needs to be concerned about your safety.”
Which he was, more than he cared to admit.
Phoebe stalked by him, but she stopped at the busted door and stared at it. Her shoulders sagged.
“My own personal commando to the rescue.” Without looking at him, she muttered, “By the way, thanks.”
“You’re welcome, by the way.”
Moving closer to her, Simon could see she was shaking and trying to hide the fact. Taking advantage of her momentary weakness, he pulled her around and pressed her into his chest where she unsuccessfully tried to hold back tears. Within seconds, his shirtfront was damp.
Simon stood there, patting Phoebe’s back, thinking he should do more. Wanting to do more. He’d never felt so helpless. All he could do was let her cry.
Suddenly, she seemed to realize what she was doing. “Oh, no,” she muttered with a sniff. “I’m ruining your good shirt.”
“The shirt will survive.”
Just as she had, thank God.
“I’m okay,” she assured him between one last sob and a hiccup. “I tend to cry when I get mad and frustrated.”
“You don’t have to feel bad about letting out your emotions. An aggressive gator would have been enough to scare anyone.”
“I wouldn’t be so emotional if I wasn’t so blind tired,” she protested, ineffectually trying to free herself. “All I could think about all the way home was getting a good night’s sleep.”
“Shh,” he murmured, refusing to let go, brushing his lips across the top of her head. “You don’t have to explain.”
Though he kind of liked her babbling. It was a soft side of Phoebe he hadn’t seen nearly enough of. Not only did it turn him on physically, but it brought out his protective instincts, made him feel part of something.
Part of her.
He’d kept to himself too much, too long, and he was ready for a change. For her. Question was, did she return the feeling?
“I’m afraid if you let me go,” Phoebe murmured, “I’ll collapse into a puddle and not be able to get up.”
“That’s easy enough to fix.”
Without warning, he lifted her into his arms and carried her inside the house. Despite the grim situation, a rueful smile twitched at his lips. He’d never thought of himself as hero material, but the moment—and this woman who’d gotten under his skin—gave him an inflated perspective.
He took Phoebe straight to her bedroom where he laid her gently on the bed. Her eyes were drooping as if she was ready to fall asleep instantly, but the feminine arms hooked around his neck were determinedly locked tight.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Not tonight.”
A demand easy enough to obey. Simon had no desire to be anywhere but with her.
He couldn’t get the broken door out of his mind. Couldn’t forget the danger she’d been in. Couldn’t forget the possible consequences.
He’d just lost a brother. A twin. Part of himself.
He couldn’t chance losing her, too, not when he’d just found her. How had she become so important to him so quickly? Simon wondered.<
br />
He still didn’t want to put words to the emotions he was feeling. He was afraid she wouldn’t return them, that he would scare her off before he had a chance to win her.
He flattened his hands on either side of Phoebe’s shoulders, while asking, “What is it you want?”
“You.”
“Why?”
“Because I need you right now.”
He could have done without the right now part, but she’d said need, as well.
That’s all Simon wanted to think about as he lowered himself onto her and took her mouth in a deep, soul-searching kiss. She responded in kind, nesting her body in the hollows of his, drawing the very breath from him, twisting his heart into unfamiliar knots.
He touched her as he’d wanted to every time he’d been near her the past few days. Face... throat... breasts... he took pleasure in claiming them all.
He wanted nothing more than to claim her completely right there.
Breaking the kiss, he murmured, “Phoebe, if anything had happened to you...”
“What? You weren’t trying to chomp on me, though that’s not a half-bad idea,” she said suggestively.
But now was not the time for humor. Deadly serious, he told her, “I would never have forgiven myself for getting you into this.”
“Uh-uh. I got you into this.”
She pulled her smooth cheek across his clean-shaven one. She felt so damn soft. Helpless.
“But I should have known better,” he went on. “I should have insisted we let the police handle the investigation.”
He knew she wasn’t helpless, of course. She was smart and resourceful.
But the killer was more so.
And the killer didn’t have her sense of honor.
“You could have insisted all you wanted,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t have agreed.”
“Then I would have made you.”
Who could have tried to run them down? he wondered, the answer taking on increasing urgency. Who could have trapped an alligator in her garage?
“Two attempts on your life in two days.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Letting this go on is unthinkable.”
“Stopping now would be unthinkable.”
A Lover Awaits Page 16
