by Nora Roberts
He smiled at her for the first time, a slow, appealing curving of lips that softened the toughness around his mouth. “I might take you up on that. Meantime, when do you close?”
“When I’m ready to.” The smile made a difference, she realized, and she couldn’t let it. In defense, she shifted her weight on one hip and sent him a look of mild insolence. “This is Cozumel, Mr. Sharpe. We don’t run nine to five here. Unless you want to rent some equipment or sign up for a tour, you’ll have to excuse me.”
He reached in to close his hand over hers. “I didn’t come back to tour. Have dinner with me tonight. We can talk.”
She didn’t attempt to free her hand but stared at him. Running a business had taught her to be scrupulously polite in any circumstances. “No, thank you.”
“Drinks, then.”
“No.”
“Miss Palmer…” Normally, Jonas was known for his deadly, interminable patience. It was a weapon, he’d learned, in the courtroom and out of it. With Liz, he found it difficult to wield it. “I don’t have a great deal to go on at this point, and the police haven’t made any progress at all. I need your help.”
This time Liz did pull away. She wouldn’t be sucked in, that she promised herself, not by quiet words or intense eyes. She had her life to lead, a business to run, and most important, a daughter coming home in a matter of weeks. “I won’t get involved. I’m sorry, even if I wanted to, there’d be nothing I could do to help.”
“Then it won’t hurt to talk to me.”
“Mr. Sharpe.” Liz wasn’t known for her patience. “I have very little free time. Running this business isn’t a whim or a lark, but a great deal of work. If I have a couple of hours to myself in the evening, I’m not going to spend them being grilled by you. Now—”
She started to brush him off again when a young boy came running up to the window. He was dressed in a bathing suit and slick with suntan lotion. With a twenty-dollar bill crumpled in his hand, he babbled a request for snorkeling equipment for himself and his brother. He spoke in quick, excited Spanish as Liz checked out the equipment, asking if she thought they’d see a shark.
She answered him in all seriousness as she exchanged money for equipment. “Sharks don’t live in the reef, but they do visit now and again.” She saw the light of adventure in his eyes. “You’ll see parrot fish.” She held her hands apart to show him how big. “And if you take some bread crumbs or crackers, the sergeant majors will follow you, lots of them, close enough to touch.”
“Will they bite?”
She grinned. “Only the bread crumbs. Adios.”
He dashed away, kicking up sand.
“You speak Spanish like a native,” Jonas observed, and thought it might come in handy. He’d also noticed the pleasure that had come into her eyes when she’d talked with the boy. There’d been nothing remote then, nothing sad or haunted. Strange, he mused, he’d never noticed just how much a barometer of feeling the eyes could be.
“I live here,” she said simply. “Now, Mr. Sharpe—”
“How many boats?”
“What?”
“How many do you have?”
She sucked in a deep breath and decided she could humor him for another five minutes. “I have four. The glass bottom, two dive boats and one for deep-sea fishing.”
“Deep-sea fishing.” That was the one, Jonas decided. A fishing boat would be private and isolated. “I haven’t done any in five or six years. Tomorrow.” He reached in his wallet. “How much?”
“It’s fifty dollars a person a day, but I don’t take the boat out for one man, Mr. Sharpe.” She gave him an easy smile. “It doesn’t make good business sense.”
“What’s your minimum?”
“Three. And I’m afraid I don’t have anyone else lined up. So—”
He set four fifty-dollar bills on the counter. “The extra fifty’s to make sure you’re driving the boat.” Liz looked down at the money. An extra two hundred would help buy the aqua bikes she’d been thinking about. Several of the other dive shops already had them and she kept a constant eye on competition. Aqua biking and wind surfing were becoming increasingly popular, and if she wanted to keep up… She looked back at Jonas Sharpe’s dark, determined eyes and decided it wasn’t worth it.
“My schedule for tomorrow’s already set. I’m afraid I—”
“It doesn’t make good business sense to turn down a profit, Miss Palmer.” When she only moved her shoulders, he smiled again, but this time it wasn’t so pleasant. “I’d hate to mention at the hotel that I couldn’t get satisfaction at The Black Coral. It’s funny how word of mouth can help or damage a small business.”
Liz picked up the money, one bill at a time. “What business are you in, Mr. Sharpe?”
“Law.”
She made a sound that might have been a laugh as she pulled out a form. “I should’ve guessed. I knew someone studying law once.” She thought of Marcus with his glib, calculating tongue. “He always got what he wanted, too. Sign here. We leave at eight,” she said briskly. “The price includes a lunch on board. If you want beer or liquor, you bring your own. The sun’s pretty intense on the water, so you’d better buy some sun-screen.” She glanced beyond him. “One of my dive boats is coming back. You’ll have to excuse me.”
“Miss Palmer…” He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to her, or why he was uncomfortable having completed a successful maneuver. In the end, he pocketed his receipt. “If you change your mind about dinner—”
“I won’t.”
“I’m at the El Presidente.”
“An excellent choice.” She walked through the doorway and onto the dock to wait for her crew and clients.
* * *
By seven-fifteen, the sun was up and already burning off a low ground mist. What clouds there were, were thin and shaggy and good-natured.
“Damn!” Liz kicked the starter on her motorbike and turned in a little U toward the street. She’d been hoping for rain.
He was going to try to get her involved. Even now, Liz could imagine those dark, patient gray eyes staring into hers, hear the quietly insistent voice. Jonas Sharpe was the kind of man who took no for an answer but was dogged enough to wait however long it took for the yes. Under other circumstances, she’d have admired that. Being stubborn had helped her start and succeed in a business when so many people had shaken their heads and warned her against it. But she couldn’t afford to admire Jonas Sharpe. Budgeting her feelings was every bit as important as budgeting her accounts.
She couldn’t help him, Liz thought again, as the soft air began to play around her face. Everything she’d known about Jerry had been said at least twice. Of course she was sorry, and had grieved a bit herself for a man she’d hardly known, but murder was a police matter. Jonas Sharpe was out of his element.
She was in hers, Liz thought as her muscles began to relax with the ride. The street was bumpy, patched in a good many places. She knew when to weave and sway. There were houses along the street with deep green grass and trailing vines. Already clothes were waving out on lines. She could hear an early newscast buzzing through someone’s open window and the sound of children finishing chores or breakfast before school. She turned a corner and kept her speed steady.
There were a few shops here, closed up tight. At the door of a market, Señor Pessado fumbled with his keys. Liz tooted her horn and exchanged waves. A cab passed her, speeding down the road to the airport to wait for the early arrivals. In a matter of moments, Liz caught the first scent of the sea. It was always fresh. As she took the last turn, she glanced idly in her rearview mirror. Odd, she thought—hadn’t she seen that little blue car yesterday? But when she swung into the hotel’s parking lot, it chugged past.
Liz’s arrangement with the hotel had been of mutual benefit. Her shop bordered the hotel’s beach and encouraged business on both sides. Still, whenever she went inside, as she did today to collect the lunch for the fishing trip, she always remembered the two years she�
�d spent scrubbing floors and making beds.
“Buenos días, Margarita.”
The young woman with a bucket and mop started to smile. “Buenos días, Liz. ¿Cómo està?”
“Bien. How’s Ricardo?”
“Growing out of his pants.” Margarita pushed the button of the service elevator as they spoke of her son. “Faith comes home soon. He’ll be glad.”
“So will I.” They parted, but Liz remembered the months they’d worked together, changing linen, hauling towels, washing floors. Margarita had been a friend, like so many others she’d met on the island who’d shown kindness to a young woman who’d carried a child but had no wedding ring.
She could have lied. Even at eighteen Liz had been aware she could have bought a ten-dollar gold band and had an easy story of divorce or widowhood. She’d been too stubborn. The baby that had been growing inside her belonged to her. Only to her. She’d feel no shame and tell no lies.
By seven forty-five, she was crossing the beach to her shop, lugging a large cooler packed with two lunches and a smaller one filled with bait. She could already see a few tubes bobbing on the water’s surface. The water would be warm and clear and uncrowded. She’d like to have had an hour for snorkeling herself.
“Liz!” The trim, small-statured man who walked toward her was shaking his head. There was a faint, pencil-thin mustache above his lip and a smile in his dark eyes. “You’re too skinny to carry that thing.”
She caught her breath and studied him up and down. He wore nothing but a skimpy pair of snug trunks. She knew he enjoyed the frank or surreptitious stares of women on the beach. “So’re you, Luis. But don’t let me stop you.”
“So you take the fishing boat today?” He hefted the larger cooler and walked with her toward the shop. “I changed the schedule for you. Thirteen signed up for the glass bottom for the morning. We got both dive boats going out, so I told my cousin Miguel to help fill in today. Okay?”
“Terrific.” Luis was young, fickle with women and fond of his tequila, but he could be counted on in a pinch. “I guess I’m going to have to hire someone on, at least part-time.”
Luis looked at her, then at the ground. He’d worked closest with Jerry. “Miguel, he’s not dependable. Here one day, gone the next. I got a nephew, a good boy. But he can’t work until he’s out of school.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Liz said absently. “Let’s just put this right on the boat. I want to check the gear.”
On board, Liz went through a routine check on the tackle and line. As she looked over the big reels and massive rods, she wondered, with a little smirk, if the lawyer had ever done any big-game fishing. Probably wouldn’t know a tuna if it jumped up and bit his toe, she decided.
The decks were clean, the equipment organized, as she insisted. Luis had been with her the longest, but anyone who worked for Liz understood the hard and fast rule about giving the clients the efficiency they paid for.
The boat was small by serious sport fishing standards, but her clients rarely went away dissatisfied. She knew the waters all along the Yucatan Peninsula and the habits of the game that teemed below the surface. Her boat might not have sonar and fish finders and complicated equipment, but she was determined to give Jonas Sharpe the ride of his life. She’d keep him so busy, strapped in a fighting chair, that he wouldn’t have time to bother her. By the time they docked again, his arms would ache, his back would hurt and the only thing he’d be interested in would be a hot bath and bed. And if he wasn’t a complete fool, she’d see to it that he had a trophy to take back to wherever he’d come from.
Just where was that? she wondered as she checked the gauges on the bridge. She’d never thought to ask Jerry. It hadn’t seemed important. Yet now she found herself wondering where Jonas came from, what kind of life he led there. Was he the type who frequented elegant restaurants with an equally elegant woman on his arm? Did he watch foreign films and play bridge? Or did he prefer noisy clubs and hot jazz? She hadn’t been able to find his slot as easily as she did with most people she met, so she wondered, perhaps too much. Not my business, she reminded herself and turned to call to Luis.
“I’ll take care of everything here. Go ahead and open the shop. The glass bottom should be ready to leave in half an hour.”
But he wasn’t listening. Standing on the deck, he stared back at the narrow dock. She saw him raise a shaky hand to cross himself. “Madre de Dios.”
“Luis?” She came down the short flight of stairs to join him. “What—”
Then she saw Jonas, a straw hat covering his head, sunglasses shading his eyes. He hadn’t bothered to shave, so that the light growth of beard gave him a lazy, vagrant look accented by a faded T-shirt and brief black trunks. He didn’t, she realized, look like a man who’d play bridge. Knowing what was going through Luis’s mind, Liz shook his arm and spoke quickly.
“It’s his brother, Luis. I told you they were twins.”
“Back from the dead,” Luis whispered.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She shook off the shudder his words brought her. “His name is Jonas and he’s nothing like Jerry at all, really. You’ll see when you talk to him. You’re prompt, Mr. Sharpe,” she called out, hoping to jolt Luis out of his shock. “Need help coming aboard?”
“I can manage.” Hefting a small cooler, Jonas stepped lightly on deck. “The Expatriate.” He referred to the careful lettering on the side of the boat. “Is that what you are?”
“Apparently.” It was something she was neither proud nor ashamed of. “This is Luis—he works for me. You gave him a jolt just now.”
“Sorry.” Jonas glanced at the slim man hovering by Liz’s side. There was sweat beading on his lip. “You knew my brother?”
“We worked together,” Luis answered in his slow, precise English. “With the divers. Jerry, he liked best to take out the dive boat. I’ll cast off.” Giving Jonas a wide berth, Luis jumped onto the dock.
“I seem to affect everyone the same way,” Jonas observed. “How about you?” He turned dark, direct eyes to her. Though he no longer made her think of Jerry, he unnerved her just the same. “Still want to keep me at arm’s length?”
“We pride ourselves in being friendly to all our clients. You’ve hired the Expatriate for the day, Mr. Sharpe. Make yourself comfortable.” She gestured toward a deck chair before climbing the steps to the bridge and calling out to Luis. “Tell Miguel he gets paid only if he finishes out the day.” With a final wave to Luis, she started the engine, then cruised sedately toward the open sea.
The wind was calm, barely stirring the water. Liz could see the dark patches that meant reefs and kept the speed easy. Once they were in deeper water, she’d open it up a bit. By midday the sun would be stunningly hot. She wanted Jonas strapped in his chair and fighting two hundred pounds of fish by then.
“You handle a wheel as smoothly as you do a customer.”
A shadow of annoyance moved in her eyes, but she kept them straight ahead. “It’s my business. You’d be more comfortable on the deck in a chair, Mr. Sharpe.”
“Jonas. And I’m perfectly comfortable here.” He gave her a casual study as he stood beside her. She wore a fielder’s cap over her hair with white lettering promoting her shop. On her T-shirt, the same lettering was faded from the sun and frequent washings. He wondered, idly, what she wore under it. “How long have you had this boat?”
“Almost eight years. She’s sound.” Liz pushed the throttle forward. “The waters are warm, so you’ll find tuna, marlin, swordfish. Once we’re out you can start chumming.”
“Chumming?”
She sent him a quick look. So she’d been right—he didn’t know a line from a pole. “Bait the water,” she began. “I’ll keep the speed slow and you bait the water, attract the fish.”
“Seems like taking unfair advantage. Isn’t fishing supposed to be luck and skill?”
“For some people it’s a matter of whether they’ll eat or not.” She turned the wheel a fraction,
scanning the water for unwary snorkelers. “For others, it’s a matter of another trophy for the wall.”
“I’m not interested in trophies.”
She shifted to face him. No, he wouldn’t be, she decided, not in trophies or in anything else without a purpose. “What are you interested in?”
“At the moment, you.” He put his hand over hers and let off the throttle. “I’m in no hurry.”
“You paid to fish.” She flexed her hand under his.
“I paid for your time,” he corrected.
He was close enough that she could see his eyes beyond the tinted lenses. They were steady, always steady, as if he knew he could afford to wait. The hand still over hers wasn’t smooth as she’d expected, but hard and worked. No, he wouldn’t play bridge, she thought again. Tennis, perhaps, or hand ball, or something else that took sweat and effort. For the first time in years she felt a quick thrill race through her—a thrill she’d been certain she was immune to. The wind tossed the hair back from her face as she studied him.
“Then you wasted your money.”
Her hand moved under his again. Strong, he thought, though her looks were fragile. Stubborn. He could judge that by the way the slightly pointed chin stayed up. But there was a look in her eyes that said I’ve been hurt, I won’t be hurt again. That alone was intriguing, but added to it was a quietly simmering sexuality that left him wondering how it was his brother hadn’t been her lover. Not, Jonas was sure, for lack of trying.
“If I’ve wasted my money, it won’t be the first time. But somehow I don’t think I have.”
“There’s nothing I can tell you.” Her hand jerked and pushed the throttle up again.
“Maybe not. Or maybe there’s something you know without realizing it. I’ve dealt in criminal law for over ten years. You’d be surprised how important small bits of information can be. Talk to me.” His hand tightened briefly on hers. “Please.”
She thought she’d hardened her heart, but she could feel herself weakening. Why was it she could haggle for hours over the price of scuba gear and could never refuse a softly spoken request? He was going to cause her nothing but trouble. Because she already knew it, she sighed.
