by Tyler Colins
Like a sack of rocks, I sank, sank, sank, breathing and swallowing salty wetness. Survival mode overpowered panic and my arms and legs thrashed and kicked, but it was Cash who towed me to the surface.
Spitting water and coughing, I endeavored to catch my breath as he slid a life preserver over my head. I possessed enough sense to hook my arms over it so I could float without effort.
“Man, you really can't swim, can you?” he asked, stunned, clasping the preserver and pulling me close.
My response was to slap him upside the head, not hard, just enough to show I wasn't amused. “I'm a dog-paddler and this canine requires shallow water,” I grouched with another slap.
He grinned. “No time like the present to –”
“Oh no, you don't!”
“Don't tell me you're scared?” Rich, temple-bell laughter rang forth.
A petulant pout pulled at my lips.
“We'll start with something easy, like having you get used to immersing your head.” He adopted a stern mien, looking like a teacher attempting to convey a critical lesson. “You don't want to fight hydrodynamics, which is what you're doing when you're dog-paddling with your face out.”
“Fine. Teach away,” I acquiesced sulkily, which produced more laughter and prompted me to attempt to push away – to no avail.
* * *
Fifty minutes later, my hair was damp and loose, my skin soft and fragrant, courtesy of a new bottle of Bamford Geranium Lavender Peppermint Hand and Body Wash, obviously purchased for female guests. Face cream and other toiletries had been found in a drawer (yes, I'd snooped) in a cosmetic bag sporting a bright orange note. Gotcha Fonne. Ha-ha. Use as needed and keep for future outings. Audacious was another word to add to the Cash Layton Jones description list.
I walked into the galley in a strappy, high-neck bikini hidden by an extra-large black T located in a master cabin hanging locker. Tito Puente was playing softly in the background. The Latin jazz suited the décor: buoyant and cheery.
Dressed in scalloped boardshorts and a tank that showed off muscles and part of that magnificent dragon tattoo on his back, my host was arranging cheeses and antipasto, baguette and crackers, on a large wooden tray on a drop-leaf cherry table. A smaller tray held fruit and chocolate-covered strawberries while wine cooled in a stainless-steel chiller.
“I prefer you without the Pippi braids.” With a smile as impertinent as it was affable, he poured wine.
I took a seat and when he passed a goblet, I passed the necklace. “Yours, I believe.”
He looked at it as if sighting an old friend and his face gleamed with gratitude. Quickly, he fastened it. “I was feeling naked – and lost – without it.”
“Why a wolf?” I'd always been curious.
“My grandfather on my mother's side was Native American. Among other things, wolves have keen senses and hold wisdom. A wolf can stand alone or with a pack, and the teacher within teaches the clan.” He stared across the galley as he fingered it. “My granddad was a great man, a respected cop, and an awesome mentor. I wear this in honor of him and wolf medicine.”
I clinked his glass. “Here's to honor and family.”
Cash scanned my face and nodded once. “Enjoying yourself?” Instead of sitting across from me, he sat alongside.
I feigned annoyance. “Sure, if sucking back a bucket of salt water and being groped is fun.”
“If I hadn't supported you, you'd have sunk like a cannon-damaged galleon,” he smirked. “Besides, who was groping whom?”
“I got panicky when you loosened your hold.” I shrugged, then smiled. “Over-familiarity aside, I am enjoying myself, I'll admit. It's nice not to have to think about business or chores, or crazy people.”
He searched my face. “I hope you're not in any rush to get back.”
“If I were?” I challenged.
“You'd be out of luck,” he replied, staring intently.
Staring back, I took a sip of un-oaked Californian chardonnay. Lush and creamy with bright acidity, Linda might write in a review.
He pressed a slice of Brie with a sliver of fig to my lips.
I chewed and gave a thumb's up. “Delicious.”
“Not nearly as much as I am.”
His lips neared mine and I pulled back. We were so not going there.
With a complacent smile, he assembled two plates.
“There's no need to play nice. You don't owe me anything.” I smiled dryly. “I helped out that night like any concerned or responsible citizen.”
“You think I brought you here to play nice?”
“And maybe to see if I'd still be willing to play intimately nice,” I suggested. “For the record, Mr. Jones, I'm not.”
Anger clouded his gaze and he focused on the wine instead of responding.
I'd have preferred to return topside, but the only way to do so was to climb over him or scramble across the table. Bulldozing food would have only darkened that brooding look, so I sipped chardonnay and studied handsome joinery.
It seemed like an hour, but was three minutes at most before he spoke, brusquely at that. “Can you stop being so damn difficult? I realize the way we left it –”
“The way you left it.” I plonked the empty glass on the table. “When you huffily marched out that morning and then left a snarky message about 'moving on'.”
He refilled glasses slowly as he appeared to gather thoughts. “Would you like to know why?”
“Because you're a big S.O.B?” I suggested astringently.
He laughed, but not with humor. “I left that message because we'd hardly parted ways and –”
“That was your decision,” I pointed out flatly.
“We'd hardly parted ways, and there you were,” he continued coolly. “Wrapped around Ives –”
“We were having lunch –”
“It looked like you were having more than that,” he said snidely.
“You used me and then you dumped me. Why give a rat's ass?” Hearing my suddenly shrill voice, I took a calming breath. “You know Ald?”
“Ives and Richie J have met once or twice,” he replied briskly.
I studied a tense face. “He arrested you…?”
“Let's leave it at: we've had a couple of run-ins.”
“No love lost, apparently,” I said flippantly.
“None whatsoever,” was the gruff response. With a tight smile, he placed a finger under my chin. “I didn't dump you, Fonne. I needed breathing space. While I was having the list copied, I realized how much … I cared. I hadn't planned to, but the truth was I was falling for you. Considering your given profession and how easily that spunky, zippy attitude of yours could get you killed, I wasn't sure I wanted to – or could – deal with that.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I sniffed. “Listen, Jones. Either you accept someone for who and what they are, or you step away – like you did.” I twirled my empty glass (when had I drunk that?) and kept frustration in check. “The bad comes with the good. If this P.I. is too spunky or zippy for Secret Agent Man, he should go find himself a bashful little Barbie or pretty Princess Ariel.” I started to squeeze past.
But Cash barred my escape. This time when his lips neared mine, I didn't pull away (damn alcohol for clouding judgment).
But then, he suddenly drew back. With one of those annoying Cash Layton Jones self-satisfied smiles, he motioned the table. “Lunch.”
And I'd thought Kent weird? I crossed my eyes and popped a kalamata olive into my mouth.
* * *
A wordless lunch evolved into wordless table-clearing and dishwashing, which turned into wordless sun-lounging for me and mystery-reading for Cash (he appeared to be very into a John Kellerman novel). A little “me time” for both had been telepathically agreed upon. While he sat in the cockpit, I lazed on the folding transom with the T-shirt serving as a blanket. Dangling my feet in the tepid water, I leaned back to embrace warming rays and closed my eyes.
The next thing I knew I
was swatting a pesky insect hovering above my face. It turned out to be a playful finger. Sleepily, I squinted at Cash, crouched before me.
“You look like a radish.”
I touched my face. Ouch. I'd forgotten to reapply sunscreen.
“I'll grab some vinegar. It's good for sunburns.”
“Never mind.” I sat upright and peered around, noticing boats and swimmers in the vicinity. “What time is it?”
“Just after half past three. You slept for over an hour.” Noticing my expression, he cuffed my cheek gently. “You obviously needed it.”
“Obviously.” I sighed. Never having been much of a napper, I felt as if I'd been cheated out of time.
“I thought we'd head back to the marina. We'll do dinner around six. There's a decent restaurant and lounge within walking distance.”
“Dinner? Surely you jest?”
“Surely I don't.”
“How about taking me home?” I asked.
“Your place or mine?” he winked.
“Is your wife into threesomes?” I asked cheekily.
He glowered and looked toward Diamond Head.
“Cat got your tongue … again?” I smiled drolly.
He leaned close. “Talking's overrated.”
“So's being an ass,” I purred into his ear, before pushing him overboard.
Unfortunately, instinctive reflexes kicked in and he took me with him.
Yeah. I really needed to learn how to swim.
* * *
After spitting out what felt like half the Pacific Ocean, I endured another fifteen-minutes of instruction. And he claimed I was like a dog without a bone? It appeared I'd become a bona-fide swimmer if that was the last thing I did.
“If you'd just relax –”
“Easy for you to say,” I snorted, making a mad-dash grab for the swim ladder and not succeeding. Down I went.
After spitting out what felt like half the Pacific Ocean, Cash tugged me to the ladder and pushed me up most ungracefully.
“Watch those hands.” I shoved him beneath the water.
Like an aquatic mammal, he glided from view and didn't return.
I climbed into the boat and peered from various stern-to-bow vantage points. What? The man could hold his breath indefinitely? There was no reason to panic – he was probably horsing around – but never say never, right? He might have banged his head on the boat. Better to err on the side of caution.
After another quick round, I sighted Cash abaft, floating face down, and grabbed the life preserver. Thankfully, it didn't slip off when I jumped over the side. Flapping and fluttering like an injured titanosaur, I pulled his head upright. A maniacal Pennywise-the-clown grin met my anxious gaze.
“You shit!”
“Welcome to lesson number three.”
The preserver ended up on the bow of the boat and I, of course, did not.
After spitting out what felt like half the Pacific Ocean, vigorous laughter rang in my ears as two strong arms swung around from behind and pulled me upward.
“You shit,” I repeated, coughing.
“Such language, Fonne.” He tsked and laughed again.
“Although my love-child mother instilled the virtues of keeping a respectful tongue, right now I am so not feeling polite or civil.” I offered a piece of my mind, rife with expletives.
“It's great to know you care.”
“In your dreams.”
Slipping around, he brushed his lips across mine. “And then some.”
“Don't count on it.”
“But I do.” He offered a self-assured smile. “If I let go, you'll sink. It seems to me I have the advantage, which means you have to agree to do my bidding.”
“Bid this.” With all my might, I pushed away and began a fast and furious dog-paddle, only to sink like a lead fishing jig.
After spitting out what felt like half the Pacific Ocean…
* * *
“What happened?” I asked groggily as he held a cooling compress to my forehead.
“You slipped and banged yourself getting back on the boat, and then momentarily blacked out. You managed to stagger here with my help.”
Peering from an overhead skylight to muted LED reading lights, to bookshelves and lockers, I finally realized we were in the master cabin, me on a queen berth and Cash seated at my side. He tossed the compress on the bureau.
“Brute.” I swatted his leg.
“If you hadn't been so gung-ho to escape the swim lesson –”
“You were threatening to let go.” Feeling childishly petulant, I stuck out my tongue. “I've ingested enough of the Pacific for one day, thanks very much.”
He grinned. “Madison, who's all of eight, could easily swim from here to the shore and back again – without a care or too many breaths.”
“Bully for Madison.”
“And Nathan, who can surf like the Duke, swims like Michael Phelps.”
The Duke? “John Wayne surfed?”
“Duke Kahanamoku.”
“Ri-ight. And bully for Nathan, too.”
The grin widened.
I sighed and a tiny smile pulled at my mouth. “Some private eye, huh?”
“We all have weaknesses.”
“What's yours?” I asked curious.
“You.”
“I'm merely a weathergirl from North Carolina,” I said. “I'm sure Richie J has met much more fascinating women.”
“Ritchie J has, but I haven't.”
I ignored the comment, hooking an arm under my head.
He peered close. “How's the head?”
“A little sore.”
“Would you like me to kiss your boo-boo?”
“Kiss this.” I held up a fist.
“You're such a tease, Fonne.”
“You're such an ass, Jones.”
“Care to check out how comfortable this berth is before we head back?”
“I'm checking it right now, and I find it hard – no off-color jokes, please.”
He leaned close. “A little conjoint lie-down would ease that headache.”
“Why do I suspect it wouldn't be just a little lie-down?”
“It comes with a massage.”
“Really?” I asked with exaggerated astonishment.
“One that will lessen the tension in every part of that too slim body.” Playfully, he bit my upper lip. “Have I told you I like my women curvy?”
I bit back, and not as gently.
He laughed, slipping hands around my shoulders. “Are you up for it?”
“No,” I glanced down and smirked. “But apparently you are.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Ambivalence returned two-fold. The result: an absolutely valid “I have a headache” excuse coupled with a rather cool roll-slide-and-spring. So here we were, still in bathing suits, him navigating into Ke'ehi Boat Harbor, me on a settee watching the horizon, silence once again proving golden.
Instead of requesting my assistance, he called to a beanstalk of a young man on the dock rummaging through a black metal tool kit and bobbing his head to a frenetic beat courtesy of an iPod. Grange, as he was called, worked at the boat club and appeared to know “Richie J” fairly well; they chatted and joked with ease.
It was only when we were moored and the dock lines secured that Cash and I once again exchanged words.
“Ready for dinner?” he asked nonchalantly.
In truth, I was hungry – famished – but I wasn't certain what I wanted to do: spend more time with him or return home (as in run for the hills). This was silly. What was I so worried about? …Falling for him again, that's what.
He glanced at a Mykronoz Zewatch2 he'd slipped on before taking the helm. “It's quarter after four. Let's change and have a glass of wine before we head out.”
I felt a shrug come on and ordered myself to bolster up. “Sure.”
As I started toward the master cabin, he grasped my arm. “I know you don't trust me –”
“You've got
that right.” I stiffened at the touch, but didn't pull away.
“You must know by now that I never give up,” he continued.
“Yeah, you're like a dog with a bone,” I sneered.
“Takes one to know one.” He brushed his lips across mine. “Or something like that.”
“Dang!”
“What?” He looked annoyed.
“I've completely forgotten to check my phone.”
“And?”
“What if I missed a vital call?”
“What if you did?”
“You're impossible.” This time, I did pull away.
Only to find myself in his arms.
“Like really, Mr. Jones?”
“Like really, Ms. Fonne.” He smirked. “Wanna get drunk and have some fun?”
“Not particularly.”
“You really need to learn to cut loose, baby.” He carried me into the galley without dropping me, which was impressive (who needed another beaning?).
I went to the master cabin to grab a T and was about to slip it on when he entered, two empty glasses hanging from one hand and an open bottle of red wine in the other.
He sauntered over and poured. “Here's to a great evening.”
I accepted the glass. “Yeah, sure.”
A smug smile pulled at his lips. “Gotta love that enthusiasm.”
“Gotta love that arrogance.”
We toasted.
“Bottom's up. Last one finished complies with the other's demands.”
Thirty seconds later, he refilled glasses. I hadn't chugged alcohol since I could remember, which probably went without saying because when you got pie-eyed drunk, life tended to become ethereal and hazy, and memories murky. Not that I was planning to get pie-eyed – well, not to any major extent. Dang. So much for ambivalence. And brains.
* * *
“What happened?” I asked, squinting up at the LED lights over the berth.
Cash rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hand. “You don't remember?”
“…Yeah, I remember.” I frowned. “How did my bathing bottoms get up there?”
Coyness crossed his face. “You don't remember?”
“…Yeah, I remember.” I sighed, then laughed. “You owe me ten sawbucks.”
“I'll happily pay another ten if you do that again.”