That made sense, she realized, thinking that maybe he was taking seriously the possibility that the killer could show up, after all. Most of the boats on the lake were berthed at Walters’ Marina or launched from there because it was just off the road from Port Henry. Mann’s Landing was home mostly to small fishing boats belonging to people who lived in the rural area on that side of the lake.
“Besides,” Michael shouted, “if the killer decides to pay a visit, he’ll want to be on the water as brief a time as possible, and it’s a nearly straight shot from Walters’ to the dock at the island. Also, he’d be able to see from the marina if there are any boats tied up at the island’s dock.”
She nodded, doing her best to seem relaxed. Ever since the accident, she’d been afraid of boats like this one—especially when they were being piloted at top speed.
But Michael was clearly enjoying himself as he stood up in the boat to see over the elevated bow. The wind swept back his thick black hair, and his square chin jutted out defiantly. He was smiling, and she wondered if he’d dreamed as a boy of one day owning a boat like this—and a Porsche to go with it.
It struck her then just how much she wanted to understand him and the forces that had shaped him. He was an enigma to her. Years ago, she’d heard the stories about his family, but she was still somewhat shaken by his casual reference to them last night. It was as though they’d grown up in different universes, when in fact they’d lived within a few miles of each other.
Mann’s Landing came into view as they streaked past the tip of the island: a ramshackle collection of low buildings that all needed a coat of paint. A motley assortment of boats, ranging from a few large cabin cruisers to rowboats and paddleboats, was tied up at the dock.
Michael throttled back, and the bow settled into the water for the first time during their crossing. He nosed into an empty slip beside a paddleboat, where a family was just disembarking. A boy of about ten or so stared with undisguised envy at Michael’s boat.
Amanda had just caught sight of a faded sign on one of the buildings that said Restaurant, when Michael started off toward the more visible sign that said Office. She followed him, thinking about the dinner she’d planned: cold lobster curry from her favorite gourmet deli.
An obese man looked up as the bell announced their entrance into the small office. The place looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned in this century, and it reeked of fish and cigar smoke—a nearly lethal combination.
“Hey, Michael! Thought I saw a red streak out there.” As he greeted Michael, his small, pale eyes appraised her.
“Amanda, this is Butch Miller. Butch, Amanda Sturdevant. After dinner, we’re going to need a ride over to the island. I’m leaving my boat here.”
“Sure, no problem. I hear you found a body out there.”
“Yeah. We’ll talk once I’m more certain about how long it’s been there, but it’s looking like maybe twenty years or so. You might want to give some thought to that, and ask around a bit. We’ll see you in about an hour—and you can top off my tank when you get around to it.”
“You’ve never been over here, have you?” Michael asked as they walked toward the restaurant.
“No.” She was tempted to lie, because she knew he was goading her.
He leaned close to her as they reached the restaurant. “The food’s not as bad as you’re thinking.”
She would have liked to protest that she hadn’t been thinking any such thing, but since she was, she said nothing. And as they walked into the restaurant, she did her best not to wince at the country music blaring from too many speakers.
But a short time later, she discovered that he was right. They’d both ordered the Catch of the Day, which was striped bass, and if the ambience and the presentation left quite a bit to be desired, at least the fish was fresh and well prepared.
Michael was greeted familiarly by several of the other customers, and she commented that he must come here regularly. That she didn’t was equally obvious from the curious glances sent her way.
He nodded. “Except for Butch, no one over here knows I’m a cop. That’s what I like about it.”
She smiled. “They might not know it, but I’ll bet they’ve guessed. You have cop written all over you, Michael Quinn.”
“Damn. And here I thought maybe I looked like a dentist or something.”
“A dentist?” She laughed. “Where did you come up with that?”
“I didn’t see much of a dentist when I was a kid, which is why I’m seeing far too much of them now. But when I did see one, I was really impressed with all the equipment and the power they had, standing over you with drills and everything. So at one point, I decided I wanted to be a dentist.”
“The dental profession has obviously suffered a great loss,” she remarked dryly.
“It took me some time to find my true calling,” he went on. “Needless to say, when my father was around, I didn’t hear much good about cops.”
“Are your parents still alive?” she asked.
“My mother is. Dad died a few years ago. Mom’s gotten into religion in her old age. There’s nothing like an ex-hooker who’s gotten religion. But at least I finally got her out of the Bottom. She’s living at Harmony Hills, that retirement community out on Valley Drive.”
Amanda could think of nothing to say. It seemed to her that they must still be inhabiting different universes. How did one reach a point where he could matter-of-factly refer to his mother as an ex-hooker?
“What did you mean when you told Butch that you would talk to him after you know more about the body?” she asked, deciding it was best to get the conversation back to a neutral place.
“Butch has been running the marina all his life—and I mean that literally. His father was a drunk who more or less handed it over to him as soon as he was old enough to pump gas and make change. If Jerry’s right about the time, Butch could be a help.”
“You mean if the killer came from over here?”
“Don’t underestimate Butch. There’s nobody who knows more about both sides of the lake than he does. He could probably tell you the last time your family had a party on the island—and maybe even what was served for dinner.”
“Then he already knew who I am, even before you introduced us?”
“Sure. He told me once that you and Jesse were the best-looking of the whole lot of them on the island.” Michael grinned at her. “He also said that you’re the only one he’s ever seen sunbathe topless out there. He’s probably right. I never saw anyone else, either.”
“What?” She stared at him, too shocked to even think of fighting the heat that rose into her face. “But that’s impossible! No one can see...”
“Oh yes, they can—if they know where to look and have a good pair of field glasses. Don’t worry. I’m sure he didn’t tell anyone else. He was kind of embarrassed about it, actually.”
“But you certainly weren’t!” she accused angrily, the words out before she could stop them.
“Why should I be? I have a very good memory.”
So there it was: the unspoken had finally been spoken, after all these years of silence.
“I wondered when you’d bring that up,” she stated coldly.
“I thought I worked it into the conversation pretty well,” he said, still grinning. “Don’t I get some credit for subtlety?”
“Michael,” she began, not at all sure what she intended to say, even though she’d imagined this discussion many times.
“I know. You’d had too much champagne, and you’ve never behaved that way before or since.”
“No. That isn’t true—about the champagne, I mean. It was a long time ago, Michael, and I think we’d both better forget about it.”
“Maybe we should, but we haven’t,” he said in a low voice. Then he paused, dropping his gaze to his plate for a moment. “I guess this would be a good time for me to say that you were wrong about why it happened. But I think you might have been half-right, at least.”<
br />
He looked up at her only as he finished his statement, and Amanda saw regret in his eyes. Or was she only imagining it? Over the years, she’d veered back and forth from believing that it had happened only because she’d beaten him in court, to believing that it had been something truly unique for them both.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Michael.”
“Okay. But remember—I didn’t say that you were completely right.”
They finished their dinner in an uneasy silence—or at least it was uneasy for her. Every time she caught him staring at her, he retreated behind his impassive cop’s gaze, so she had no idea what he might be thinking. If she could have looked at it objectively, she might have credited him for his honesty, but she couldn’t look objectively at anything connected to Michael Quinn.
He persuaded her to join him for a piece of the house specialty for dessert: a tart lemon pie that was truly the best she’d ever had. And over that, he told her that he’d spent part of the day at headquarters after Jerry had told him it was looking like twenty years or so.
“I decided to get a jump on things by looking through the missing-persons reports for that time period.”
“Did you find anything interesting?” she asked, eager once again to keep their conversation focused on safe topics.
“Maybe. There were three reports of teenage girls who went missing during that time, and no record that any of them were ever found. But that doesn’t mean much. From what I could tell, the record keeping was pretty sloppy back then. I’ll get someone to check them out.
“Records that old aren’t on the computer and they were just kept chronologically, so there was a lot to go through, and in the process, I came across the report on your accident. I hadn’t known about it. I was in the Marines then.” He leaned back in his chair, studying her. “Tell me about it.”
Amanda felt herself go cold inside, and almost told him that she couldn’t talk about it. But how could she explain what had to be an overreaction? Twenty years was a long time—more than enough time to put some emotional distance between the girl she’d been then and the woman she was now.
“I’m sure it’s all in the police reports,” she said, temporizing.
“Not all of it. For example, what the hell were you doing out there at night in the first place? You were only thirteen.”
“Nearly fourteen—and Trish was sixteen. It was just a crazy thing we decided to do, that’s all. You don’t have to have a reason when you’re that age.
“Trish’s brother had just gotten a cigarette boat and she was angry with him because he’d taken her new sports car without her permission. So she decided that she’d take his boat It was the first warm night that spring.”
“One of the things that struck me,” Michael said, “was how someone who was familiar with the lake could have rammed into the ski jump. And the best guess was that you were probably going full throttle at the time.”
“The lights might not have been on on the jump,” she said defensively.
“But still,” he persisted, “she must have known where it was.”
“Why are you so curious about this, Michael?”
He shrugged. “I’m just nosy, that’s all. The report said that you didn’t remember anything, that you had shock-induced amnesia.”
She nodded curtly, wishing he’d drop the subject before her emotions got the better of her.
“But doesn’t that generally go away after a short time?”
“It didn’t in my case. The doctors and the psychologist said that the physical trauma probably contributed to it, as well. They’re really not sure what happens to the brain when the body’s temperature is lowered like that. I was in the water for over an hour and the temperature was just under fifty degrees at the time. In fact, they were concerned about possible brain damage for a while.”
“You’re damn lucky to be alive,” Michael said quietly. “It’s a miracle that you didn’t die like your cousin.”
“Yes, it is.” She looked away from him as she felt the tears begin to well up.
Then she jumped as his hand covered hers. He removed it quickly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Sometimes I just let my nosiness carry me too far.”
She smiled at him, touched by the sincerity of his regret. “It was so long ago. I should be able to handle it better than I am. I suppose it’s because I’ve never been able to remember anything. At the time, the psychologist told my parents it was better if I didn’t remember, but I think she was wrong.”
She’d intended to let it go at that, but Michael’s gentle concern seemed to be urging her on. “You see, everyone thought that Trish was guilty of recklessness. But she wasn’t that way. I do remember the first part of it, when we left the dock. And I know she was being careful with Rob’s boat.”
She stopped and sighed. “Losing her was terrible enough, but I’ve always felt so guilty that I couldn’t remember why it happened.”
“You wanted to exonerate her,” Michael said, nodding.
“Exactly. But I never could.”
“I think you probably gave the answer yourself a little while ago, when you said that kids don’t need a reason. What’s making it tough for you now is that you’re looking at it through adult eyes.”
“Maybe so, but even then, I wanted to find a reason. Jesse told me that maybe I could be hypnotized into remembering, but when I asked my parents about that, they refused to have it done.
“Then, years later, I went to a psychologist who used hypnosis and tried it, but nothing was there.”
“IT’S A PERFECT PLACE for a stakeout—plus I get to realize a lifelong dream,” Michael said as he studied the island through his field glasses. Dusk was just turning to night, and the waters of the lake were silver in the waning light.
“What lifelong dream?” she asked.
“Sleeping in a tree house,” he replied, lowering the glasses and turning to her. “I would have built one myself when I was a kid, except that there weren’t any trees around.
“Then one spring, the city decided to beautify our neighborhood, and they planted all these little trees. I must have been about eight or nine, and I had a pretty vague idea of how long it takes for a tree to grow. I figured that in a couple of years, I’d be able to build my tree house.
“If you should ever happen to stop at that Mobil station at Tenth and Hudson, check out their mechanic. He’s still wearing a scar I gave him when I caught him ripping out the tree in front of our building.”
She laughed, but Michael thought it was an unnatural sort of laugh. What the hell was he supposed to do: pretend that he’d grown up the way she had?
“Well, enjoy your night up here, then,” she said as she started back down the steps. “I’ll see you for breakfast.”
Michael leaned on the railing and watched as she climbed down and then disappeared into the woods, trailed by the little dog that had been barking nervously ever since she’d abandoned it to climb up to the tree house.
“This is not exactly what you had in mind for tonight, fella,” he muttered to himself as he picked up the glasses again and scanned the lake.
He didn’t really believe that the killer would show up, but he’d seen his opportunity and had taken it. Amanda was going to be out here, and he had a reason to be here, so...
But he’d messed up again. Why could he never seem to get it right where she was concerned? Was somebody trying to tell him something?
Everything had seemed okay until he’d tried to apologize for that night. Okay, so it hadn’t been much of an apology, but he’d been honest. He’d thought she would appreciate that.
Michael wasn’t inclined to introspection, but he’d given that night a lot of thought. Sure, part of it was that he’d wanted some sort of victory after the hosing he’d taken from her in court. But that wasn’t all of it—not by a long shot. And he’d thought she would understand that.
He wondered suddenly if he’d been misjudging her. She had all tha
t poise and polish that came with old money, and he’d just assumed that self-confidence came with it. But maybe he was wrong.
He thought about her statement that her father had favored Jesse. Michael was an only child, so he didn’t really understand sibling rivalry.
But now, as he thought about the gawky kid she’d been and the beauty her sister had always been, he began to see that some of that kid might still be there inside her.
“Damn!” he swore softly. He’d probably really blown it now.
In all the years since that night, their paths had crossed from time to time in professional circles but that was all. And yet, every time he did see her, he had this sense of something left unfinished, something of the past and maybe of the future, but not the present.
Now they’d be working together regularly, and he was worried that if he tried to start anything between them, she’d see it as an attempt on his part to ingratiate himself with the D.A.
Michael knew that a cop and a D.A. weren’t exactly a match made in heaven, and he also knew that it posed more problems for her than for him. The most he’d get would be some ribbing. But she’d find everyone second-guessing any decisions she made regarding his cases, which would also be her most important cases.
He peered out at the lake, watching the rising moon stipple the dark water with silver. And he thought about a night he couldn’t seem to forget—and a woman he knew he still wanted.
AMANDA TOSSED AND TURNED. The bed was too big—and too empty. And when she finally fell asleep, it was to find herself in a dark dream of speeding across the lake, shivering in a cold wind, the roar of the boat at full throttle assaulting her ears. Trish was shouting something, but Amanda’s teeth were chattering from the cold and she couldn’t respond.
Then suddenly, she saw the blinking lights of the ski jump just ahead. She screamed, but the wind snatched the sound and flung it into the darkness. The roar of the boat grew even louder then was lost beneath the world-shattering explosion!
Lawman Lover Page 5
