by Diana Palmer
“Yes, you do.” He rolled over onto his back. “You put that bikini on deliberately, sparrow.”
She closed her eyes and lay back down on her stomach. She wanted to deny it, but he’d have seen through the lie, and she knew it.
“It’s perfectly normal, Siri,” he murmured lazily. “You’re young enough to want to test your ability to attract men. Just don’t test it on me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said in a strangled tone. “I think I must be going crazy.”
“You’re only growing up, little girl,” he replied, “and it’s about time. Stop brooding about it.”
“I’m not brooding, I’m embarrassed,” she admitted tightly.
He reached out and caught her hand where it lay on the towel, pressing it gently. “Nothing you could do would embarrass me. But if you try to seduce me, I’ll put you over my knee. I think too much of Jared to play fast and loose with his daughter.”
“You aren’t mad at me?” she asked hesitantly.
He smiled. “No, honey.” He let go of her hand, shifting as two little boys leapt over his legs. “Watch out,” he warned her with a chuckle.
She dodged the little feet just in time. “I was afraid somebody was going to walk on me,” she murmured.
“It’s human nature,” he remarked.
“What is?”
“The urge to step on people when they lie down and ask for it,” he replied, amusement in his deep voice.
“You’ll probably never feel it,” she remarked, studying the size and powerful masculinity of his husky form. His legs were broad and powerful. He had a natural bronze tan that had nothing to do with sunlight. Muscular, masculine, he drew a woman’s eyes like a magnet. He was vividly exciting in swimming trunks, especially compared with the skinny white bodies of most of the other men on the beach.
“You’re staring, baby,” he said suddenly, and she turned her face away with a flush of embarrassment.
“I was thinking,” she corrected hotly.
“You must think a hell of a lot these days,” came the bland reply.
She shifted restlessly on her towel. “Where do we start looking for your witness?” she asked, attempting to change the subject.
“In the hotel bar,” he replied lazily. “I hope you’ve got your driver’s license with you. Right now you look about sixteen.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?” she muttered.
“A little bit of both, sparrow.” He stretched his big arms above his head and sighed. “God, I needed this! I can’t remember a rougher week.”
“I know what you mean,” she replied. “Remember that controversy about the ambulance service not answering a call, when that teenager almost bled to death? Bill sent me to get the story.”
“Did they fry you?” he asked.
“With onions,” she sighed. “I felt two inches high when I walked out. It wasn’t one of the regular ambulance service technicians who answered the call and refused to make it; it was a cocky young rookie who only signed on for a few weeks during a break in his schedule. He was fired the day after the incident. But nobody told us that.” She again sighed wearily. “I hate this stinking business sometimes. Those men care, Hawke. Most of them really care, and they don’t make fortunes, either. They do a thankless job and the only publicity they ever get is when something like this happens. They get crucified for their mistakes, by well-meaning people like me.”
“If you didn’t do it, who would?” he asked quietly, slanting a glance in her direction. “The taxpayers are entitled to know how their funds are being spent or misspent. That’s what your job is all about, Siri, observing and reporting, not judging. And for objectivity, on a scale of ten, I’d give you a nine plus.”
That made her smile. “Thanks. But I still feel like a 14K creep.” She sat up on the towel, folding her arms around her raised knees, leaning her chin on them. “Hawke, who are we looking for?”
“No notebook?” he commented drily. He then watched her dig in her beach bag and produce a small pad and a pen.
“Okay, shoot,” she said smugly.
He smiled as he lit a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. “Do you carry it into the tub?” he asked.
“Sure!”
He raised an eyebrow. “As to who we’re looking for, remember when the landlady was rousted out of bed at three in the morning to open the door to Devolg’s room for that ‘concerned friend’?”
“The one who mysteriously disappeared when the landlady got the door open and found Devolg, lying on his bed stabbed to death?” she replied.
“The same.”
“Hawke, is that who we’re looking for?” she asked excitedly.
“Let’s just say I’ve got a hunch who the man was, and I’ve a contact here who may be able to unravel the mystery for me,” he said solemnly. He took another draw from his cigarette. “If I’m right,” he mused with a dark smile, “it’s going to blow one big hole in the prosecution’s case.”
“You think the boy is innocent?” she asked.
“My God, Siri, would I have taken the case if I thought he wasn’t?” he asked harshly.
“I never try to second-guess you,” she replied. “It’s not worth the wear and tear on my nerves. Are you going to give me a name?”
“What do you think, honey?” he asked nonchalantly.
“I think hell will freeze over first.”
“Shrewd perception.”
“If you’re not going to tell me anything, why did you agree to let me come along?” she asked, peering at him over the top of her pad.
His head turned toward her, but she couldn’t see his eyes through the dark lenses of his sunglasses. He didn’t say a word, but she felt vaguely uneasy.
“Hawke, what will you do if the prosecution gets to your mystery man first?”
Both dark eyebrows went up. “What do you think they’d do, bump him off? Honest to God, Jared needs to take those detective novels away from you.”
She shrugged. “James Bond…” she began.
“…is a remarkable piece of fiction, but fiction, nevertheless. Why,” he asked himself, “did I bring you along?”
“Because you promised Dad.” A mischievous smile touched her pink bow of a mouth. “Hawke, can I play in the sand now? Will you buy me a bucket and a shovel?”
His chiseled lips made a thin line as his head turned once again in her direction. “Aren’t you a little old for these kind of games?” he asked shortly.
She felt whipped. “Can’t I even tease you, for Pete’s sake?” she asked irritably.
“Not that kind of teasing, no!” he growled.
“You’re as touchy as a sunburned water moccasin,” she grumbled.
“I thought you came out here to sunbathe,” he remarked.
She stretched out on her towel with an irritated sigh. “So I did,” she murmured, but she was talking to herself.
Supper in the hotel restaurant was the best she’d ever had, perhaps because her swim in the Gulf had whetted her appetite, or maybe because Hawke was in a better mood. He seemed more relaxed, as if the delicious meal had taken the edge off the black humor he’d been in most of the day.
She liked the way he looked in his cinnamon colored silk shirt, worn with a lightweight beige suit that made him stand out from the crowd. He was, she thought miserably, such a handsome man; not in the conventional sense, but in a rugged, very masculine way that made her fingers want to reach out and touch him. It was a feeling she’d never experienced before. It puzzled and frightened her, all at once.
She concentrated on her coffee. “When do we go to the bar?” she asked.
“In,” he studied the watch strapped in the curling dark hair on his wrist, “ten minutes. I contacted my informant by phone.” His dark eyes met hers across the table. “You’ll have to pretend to be invisible, sparrow. I don’t want anyone in that bar, especially the man I’m meeting there, to believe you’re anything other than my date. It’s a dangerous game, hunting
a murderer. In that respect, your precious mystery writers have a valid point.”
“But, Hawke…” she protested.
“My terms, Siri,” he reminded her. “And you agreed to them. I want you kept out of this as much as possible. I’ll tell you what I want you to know, when the time is right.”
“Male chauvinist,” she grumbled. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m going to let you prove that one of these days. But for now, you’ll do what I tell you,” he said darkly.
“Yes, Uncle Hawke,” she said in her best juvenile voice. “Will you buy me an ice-cream soda?”
His eyes narrowed. “Keep digging me, and you’ll wish to God I was your uncle.”
She made a face at him. “Honestly, you and my father…!”
“Do you think I want to find your body washed up on some godforsaken stretch of beach because you flirted with danger one time too many?” he demanded hotly. “I’d give blood if Bill Daeton would take you off that police beat. You like the risk just a little too much for my peace of mind.”
“You’re not my keeper!” she flung at him.
His eyes narrowed, sliding boldly over the bodice of her beige dress, and it was almost as if he was touching her.
“Do you burn like that with a man, Siri?” he asked in a soft, low voice. “Has Holland ever tapped those deep fires?”
She felt herself flushing. “I’d like to go now.”
“Afraid to talk about it with me?” he taunted.
“The lobster was delicious,” she replied as she rose.
He chuckled softly, walking behind her to the cashier. There was something almost predatory in the sound of his soft laughter.
She didn’t believe for a minute that she might wind up being washed in on a wave with her throat cut, but Hawke was so doggedly protective of her that it made her uneasy. He seated her in a booth in the darkened bar where the jukebox blared like an orchestra in a closet, deafening and brassy. He ordered her a sherry, ignoring the dirty look she gave him.
“Stay put,” he said, leaning over to growl in her ear so that he could make her hear him over the music. “I’ll be at the bar.”
“Hawke, why are you being so…”
He caught her soft throat with one big hand and pressed her head back against the cold leather of the booth, his mouth hovering just above hers. He held her eyes for a long, static moment. His hand moved, testing the effect of the look with a finger at the stampeding pulse in her throat.
The noise, laughter and flickering candlelight faded away and there was only Hawke, bending over her, with his eyes appearing almost black under those darkly knit brows as he studied her. His fingers lifted to her mouth, touching her lips, whispering across them, making them part as her breath whispered frantically past them.
His thumb gently pressed down on her lower lip as he bent. Dazed, her eyes dwelt on the chiseled perfection of his mouth as it opened slightly just before he leisurely fitted it to hers. It was a tantalizing kiss, so brief and light and teasing that it felt more like a fleeting breeze. But the effect it had on her was evident in her trembling pulse, the breathless sigh that passed her lips, the slender young hand that involuntarily lifted in protest when he drew away.
His forefinger pressed against her mouth for an instant, and he smiled at her with a quiet, tender warmth that made lightning spark in her mind.
Siri gazed after him, helplessly. Of course, he’d planned it, it was part of the charade. But his mouth had been hard, and tasted of tobacco and mint, and she ached for something more violent than that whisper of promise. What would it be like, she wondered dazedly, to let him kiss her the way he must kiss Gessie; to feel the hunger and rough passion in that eager mouth, to let him touch her….
She jerked her mind back into place as the waitress brought the mild drink he’d ordered for her. She took a long, deep swallow of it and willed her strung nerves to relax. She couldn’t afford to think about him like that. Hawke wasn’t a manageable boy like Mark. He was a man, and he didn’t play games. The chaste kisses she was used to wouldn’t come near to satisfying someone like Hawke; she knew that without being told. And, for her, anything deeper was out of the question. She couldn’t make that kind of commitment.
Her eyes involuntarily sought him out. He was talking to someone now; a tall, skinny blond man with a mustache. Their conversation was intent, and Hawke frequently nodded. The blond man finished his drink and left the bar. Hawke came back to the booth, carrying a tumbler of what was obviously scotch and water on the rocks.
“Well?” she asked loudly, hoping that her nervousness wouldn’t show.
He finished the drink in one swallow. “We’ve got to talk. Let’s go upstairs.”
She gathered up her purse and followed him, away from the shuddering impact of the music. She didn’t want to go back to that lonely suite with him. Not yet, not feeling this kind of longing when he could read her expressions like the weather report. But, there was no hope for it. And she was curious about what had happened to make him look so solemn.
Going down the hall, Siri sidestepped to keep from colliding with another couple and heard Hawke’s sudden, deep, “Well, I’ll be damned!”
“That depends on how good you are between now and the day your number’s up,” came the laughing reply from the tall, blond man who grabbed Hawke’s outstretched hand and shook it heartily. “Hawke Grayson! God, it’s been years! The only time I see you now is on the news or in the papers. You remember Kitty, don’t you?”
Hawke grinned down at the petite little blonde hanging on to the tall man’s sleeve. “How could I ever forget your wife?” he asked. “Just as pretty as ever, too.”
“You lawyers are all alike,” Kitty said through a blush, smiling shyly at the husky, dark man.
“Randy, Kitty, this is my partner’s daughter, Cyrene Jamesson,” Hawke said, introducing the couple to his puzzled companion. “Siri, these are the Hallers. Randy and I went through law school together. Our families were neighbors in Charleston.”
“I’m very glad to meet you,” Siri said politely.
“Ah, that’s because you don’t know us yet,” Randy told her with a twinkling smile.
“Honestly, Randy,” Kitty muttered. “Siri, you’ll have to excuse him, it’s spending so much time around crazy people that does this to him.”
Siri grinned back. “I know all about crazy people.”
“Amen,” Hawke said with a long-suffering expression. “Meet the poor man’s Lois Lane. Siri,” he explained, “is a police reporter.”
“So you report policemen.” Randy smiled blankly. “Good for you. Who do you report them to?”
“It runs in his family, you know,” Kitty said in a conspiratorial tone. “His grandfather was a ballet dancer.”
“My God, why did you have to shame me like that?” Randy groaned. “Conjuring up images of an old man parading in a pink ruffled tutu.”
“How would you like to come up to our suite for coffee?” Kitty asked quickly. “If you’re not in a hurry….”
Hawke took Siri’s arm. “No hurry,” he replied. “We’d enjoy it.”
“Of course,” Siri seconded, but her mind was on what Hawke had discovered in the bar.
Siri liked the Hallers. Randy possessed not only a keen wit, but an inquiring mind to go with it; a fact that became quickly apparent the minute he and Hawke began discussing law. Kitty was open and friendly and simply loveable. She and Siri found an instant rapport and spent the rest of the evening comparing notes on art, music and books, leaping from one subject to the next, fired by the rapid exchange of viewpoints.
“Ladies, I hate to break this up,” Hawke said finally, “but it’s past this youngster’s bedtime.” Ignoring her outraged look, he reached down and pulled her up from the sofa with a firm hand.
“Yes, Uncle Hawke,” she muttered with a false pout, and Randy’s laughter burst the silence.
“That’s a new role for you, Hawke,” Randy observed
.
“Yes, it is,” came the deep, drawled reply, while the hard glance that went Siri’s way along with it promised early retribution. “Come on, Miss Pain-in-the-neck, we’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
“Not all of it, I hope,” Kitty said. “We’re going to that marine world place down the road, and we were going to invite the two of you along.”
Hawke glanced down at Siri. “Want to?” he asked.
She smiled at Kitty. “I’ve never been to one before.”
“We’ll leave here about ten in the morning,” Randy said with a grin, “if that’s not too early.”
“Not at all,” Hawke replied. “And before you start getting ideas, Siri and I are working on a case, not each other. She’s spoken for,” he added.
Randy seemed to flush, but he recovered quickly. “I have to admit, I wondered, even though she is a little younger than your normal…That is…Oh, hell, we’ll see you in the morning.”
Hawke nodded with a wispy smile. “Goodnight.” He drew Siri along with him, leaving her to call her goodbyes over her shoulder.
He unlocked the door to their suite and let her in, locking it firmly behind him as he faced her with angry dark eyes.
Five
“Now,” he began in a low, quiet tone, “what’s this ‘Uncle Hawke’ business.”
“Why did you have to make such an issue out of it being strictly business in front of the Hallers?” she countered, still feeling the embarrassment. “I’m sure they weren’t thinking anything of the sort! Look at the age difference!”
His eyes went slowly up and down her body. “I’m looking,” he replied quietly. “And I’ll remind you that it didn’t seem to matter to you in the bar. You wanted more.”
She felt herself turning red. Her lips parted, but she couldn’t make a sound. She turned away, folding her arms across her slender body, feeling again the hunger, the newness of passion.
“Remind me at some appropriate time,” he said shortly, “to give you a brief lecture on the danger of provocation.”
She felt her heart pounding under her ribs. “I…wasn’t trying to provoke you.”