“Would you care to tell me why you hated my grandfather so much?”
“I see him looking out of your eyes.”
“I get that.”
“Well, get this.” He leaned so close that I prepared to stomp his foot with my heel. “You have the same long nose for trouble too.” He wagged his finger. “If you don’t watch out, you’ll end up dead like him.”
I stiffened. “What do you know about my grandfather’s death?”
Was it panic that I saw in those alcohol-glazed eyes? Was he threatening me?
“Jonathan played with fire and paid for it. If you want to live, you’ll leave well enough alone.” He turned and wheeled off into the crowd.
Drawing a shaky breath, I rubbed my throbbing arm. All at once the room seemed too noisy, too warm. I had to get out of here. I located the door that led to the beach and slipped out into the night.
Chapter 9
On the hotel’s loggia, I drank in a deep breath of fresh air. After removing my sandals, I made my way down the short flight of steps leading to the beach. The tide was out, so the ocean was a flat shimmering disk under the moonlight. A balmy breeze cooled my warm face.
Once I reached the hard-packed sand by the edge of the water, I turned and walked away from the hotel. Gentle waves lapped and sucked at my feet. Tension ebbed from me, carried away by the ocean.
I loved the beach at night when only the occasional lovers strolled it. Growing up, I had often stolen down to be alone. Because of the Palm Beach police department, crime was a rarity on the island, limited to the sordid scandals the rich and famous managed to get themselves in. But the season was almost over and with its end, the snowbirds would be heading north to their next seasonal home. Palm Beach would lie dormant, populated by only the locals.
Gradually, the hotel’s blazing lights dimmed to only a glow in the night. With distance I relaxed even more, allowing my thoughts to flow with the rhythm of the waves.
What was the deal with Kurt Winewski?
I knew from the legal gossip that he had served on the circuit court bench for only a few years. Then inexplicably he had accepted a demotion to the county court. When he’d grown dissatisfied, Kurt had applied repeatedly for vacancies for higher seats, but every time the Judicial Nominating Committee had passed him over.
On the other hand, with his name, community standing and zeal for the law, my grandfather had been appointed then elected to the circuit bench. Within a year he had risen to chief judge. Had Winewski so resented Jonathan Rochelle that the years hadn’t erased his hatred? Would it be worth a shot to approach him during the day, when he was sober, to question him? While others sought to protect me, maybe Winewski would be willing to talk about my grandfather.
In my path something gleamed like a gigantic pearl and I picked it up, brushing off grains of sand. It was a sand dollar, perfectly round. I would add it to my growing collection in the Waterford vase on my coffee table. My bid for freedom had driven me inland, far enough away from the island so people couldn’t just drop in on a whim. But I missed the comfort of the ocean’s waves, so much that I had bought one of those sound machines in order to sleep at night.
A dark shadow joined mine against the sand, and a sense of awareness tingled through me. I was no longer alone. I spun around.
Gabe loomed over me, the night carving deep shadows on his face. “Are you nuts coming out here all by yourself?”
Although part of me relaxed, another part went on high alert. On this moonlit beach, I was in a different kind of danger.
“I needed to be alone for a moment.”
He placed a finger under my chin, lifting my face to the moonlight. “What spooked you?”
I have to admit, Gabe’s ability to read me was disconcerting. All the years of finishing school had taught me to present a mask to the world, yet this man within a short time of knowing me had stripped it away. Why him, when neither Juan nor Harold had ever bothered?
Off balance, I managed to shrug. “I had a run-in with someone who wasn’t a fan of my grandfather.”
Gabe’s gaze lowered and his jaw tightened, but his touch was tender as he ran a gentle hand along my upper arm. “Did he do this to you?”
Puzzled, I glanced down and, in the moonlight, saw dark spots the shape of fingertips marring my arm. One of the many curses of having a fair complexion. Burning easily in the sun insured I kept a gallon of forty-five proof suntan lotion on hand at all times. However, no commercial preventive measure for bruising existed. The one time I had donated blood, my arm had been black-and-blue for over a week.
“It looks worse than it actually is, Gabe. I bruise on the drop of a dime.”
“Someone gripped you hard enough to do this.”
“Too much alcohol.”
“Never an excuse.” Gabe bit out the words, each one loaded with reproach. Or was it self-loathing I heard?
I thought about the other night at the bar, and tonight, and Gabe’s preference for water. Not once have I seen him with an alcoholic drink in hand. I wondered how long he had been in recovery.
“Kate?”
With a start I realized Gabe had been talking. Normally, I didn’t zone out like that. “What did you say?”
“I asked who did this to you?”
“Judge Winewski.”
“Winewski? What does he have to do with all this?”
“I’m not sure. He was a judge at the same time as my granddad and without question hated him. When I first appeared before Winewski in court, he lectured me about appropriate behavior and took a verbal swipe at my grandfather.” It would be the last time, I promised myself, that anyone would be able to denigrate Jonathan.
“Do you think he’s the one Grace wanted to meet here tonight?”
“I don’t know.” I shook my head. “True to the male’s innate fear of attending a function alone, every man here tonight has a date. With all that wealth and power centered in one room, it’s hard to imagine who might have been her target. One thing for sure, Grace would’ve been in heaven.”
“You want me to check into Winewski?”
“Yes.” I didn’t mention that I planned to confront the judge. Gabe would insist on accompanying me and I desperately wanted Winewski to talk to me about my grandfather. No matter how tainted his words would be, his account would be more than anyone else has been willing to give me.
I was tired of having cotton batting wrapped around me because of the old family scandal. But I had to be careful to maintain my objectivity. My instincts screamed that somehow my grandfather’s disappearance was connected to Grace.
“I’ll start looking into his background first thing tomorrow.” Gabe’s arms slipped around my waist, drawing me closer to the heat of his body. Funny, I hadn’t noticed I had become chilled in the night air.
“I thought you were upset about your ex being here.”
Gabe didn’t miss a trick.
“No. Only surprised to learn he and my aunt have arrived at a truce.”
“Did she have the same problem with him that she did with me?”
I didn’t pretend to not understand the point of his question. “Let me put it this way. Hilary’s an equal-opportunity bigot. If your bloodline isn’t society blue, she doesn’t take to you, no matter what your heritage is.”
“Your marrying an Hispanic must have caused quite a stir.”
“A hotline crisis. My relatives sent out an all-points bulletin to anyone who would help. They didn’t have to worry.”
“What did Juan do to you? Did he hurt you?” Gabe asked in a voice that held deep stillness.
“Not in a physical sense. Though…”
Memories of the last night I had been with Juan lashed at me. Sex had been very abbreviated, almost painful, lasting hardly a minute before he had…well, lost his erection. He had pulled himself free and lit into me. “Making love to you is like making love to an ice cube. How can a man feel like staying inside you when you’re so unresponsive?”
“What?” Gabe was intense as he studied my face. “Tell me what happened?”
“Nothing important.”
“No, Kate, I think that bastard hurt you terribly.”
“Not all his fault. I have a bad habit of picking the wrong man.”
“And who is the right man, babe?”
“Don’t ask me. I used to think a lightning bolt would strike announcing his arrival. I thought it was something I would know with crystal clarity. But this is real life and wolves come wrapped in all degrees of sheep’s clothing.”
“Too much pain,” Gabe murmured, drawing me closer. “It’s too beautiful an evening to have so much pain. Listen.”
“To what?” Damn me, I wanted this intimate moment to go on forever. To have him just hold me.
“The music of the night.”
We were too far away from the hotel to hear the band. “I don’t hear anything.”
He pressed a finger across my lips. “You’re listening with your head. Listen with your heart. Hear it? The ocean.”
The waves hissed as they lapped upon the beach, before retreating. Like an ancient melody, their throbbing cadence seeped into my blood.
“Dance with me.”
Before I could reply, Gabe began to move. Of their own volition, my arms stole around his neck. Together we moved to the rhythm of the night. With the stars as our lights and the sand our dance floor, I wouldn’t have traded the place for all the exclusive nightclubs in the world.
I sighed and pressed my face against his neck so I could inhale his musky scent. A sense of languidness stole all the tension from my body, replacing it with a different but more delicious throbbing.
When Gabe’s breath feathered against my ear, I tilted my head. His mouth rained light kisses across my face until they reached my mouth. The first kiss was slow, soft as the night. When his tongue traced the outline of my mouth, I opened to him.
When he didn’t enter at my invitation, I opened my eyes and found him intently looking at me.
“Take me,” he whispered.
Take him? What did he mean?
I pressed closer so I could feel his erection against my lower body. His answering smile was so hot that I felt emboldened. He kissed me again.
Desire was now an insistent undertow deep within me. I needed more. Framing his face with my hands, I thrust my tongue into his mouth. The sensation of the various textures of his mouth fused my brain.
I moaned under the impact. Gabe returned the assault.
Skin. I needed to feel his skin. I fumbled at the tuxedo shirt’s studs.
A woman’s shrill, drunken laughter split the night’s stillness, reverberating through my sexual haze. A man answered the woman, and she laughed again. Their voices were close, too close.
My hands stilled, and Gabe gave me one last kiss before raising his head. His hands rubbed my shoulders as he looked down the beach.
“They’re coming our way. We should head back to the hotel.”
I drank in a calming breath, trying to force my raging hormones back into their closet.
“You okay?”
“Fine, I’m fine.” Taking a step backward, I stepped ankle-deep into the rising tide. A wave slapped at my legs, nearly sending me sprawling.
Laughing, Gabe caught me. “Looks to me more like you’ve been swept off your feet.”
“And you’re all wet.” Indignant, I tried to push him away but it was like trying to topple the Rock of Gibraltar. His smile was self-deprecating as he steadied me.
“If it makes your pride feel any better, I’m not fine either. I’ve got a hard-on that’s going to require a cold, cold shower.”
My lips twitched. “I’ll take a swim as soon as I get home.”
His expression was intense. “You know, babe, at some point we’re going to have to take that final step.”
“We have a case to solve.”
He threw back his head and laughed. Before I knew what was happening, he lifted me up and swung me around in a circle.
“Ah, Kate. You kill a man’s ego.”
I stiffened and tried to pull away, but he only hugged me tighter.
“I’m going to enjoy the chase, but when you finally catch me—”
“What? Me catch you? You arrogant—”
His hard kiss cut off my protest. “Oh yes, beautiful, I’m going to let you do the catching. And when you do, I’m going to make love with you until we both either die of exhaustion or starvation.”
“Sex more than once?”
He lowered me until my feet touched the beach. “Once? Babe, you definitely have been picking the wrong men.”
He whispered something hot in my ear and then grabbed my hand and began to pull me along the beach.
I couldn’t have heard him right. Surely a man couldn’t have sex for that long and that many times in one night, could he?
From their closet, my hormones broke out, singing “Anticipation, baby!”
Stan Turow, Juan’s field supervisor, yelled at me over the noise of a Bobcat scooping up a load of dirt. “There’s no problem.” He spoke into his walkie-talkie and strode toward the on-site construction trailer across a field of dirt.
The sod Juan had been worrying about when I had been at his office had finally arrived. Just my luck.
I looked down at my Bruno Magli shoes, consigning them to the trash, and followed Stan. For weeks on end I’d been trying to speak with the elusive foreman, so I wasn’t about to lose him now. But landscaping being done around the courthouse meant the finishing touches on the restoration were drawing to a close.
The window of opportunity to find out who had killed Grace Roberts was quickly slamming shut in more ways than one. That morning the judge’s office had called, advising me trial would begin next week.
My heels sank into the soil as I matched the foreman’s stride. Although it was only noon, the sun already packed a punch. My black Irish-linen jacket clung to my back, driving home the irony of wearing breathable fabric in a color that soaked up heat like a magnet. Next time I came to a construction site, practicality would win over chic.
“You said there’s no trouble, Mr. Turow, but what about all the delays? Late shipments? Men quitting?”
“That’s not trouble, ma’am, that’s construction. Happens all the time.” Stan was a testament to Florida tattoo shops. Colorful designs covered every inch of his exposed flesh, including his shaved head. I shuddered to think about what tattoos he had on the body parts covered by his clothing.
“More than usual on this project?” I tried not to stare at the snake slithering over one bulging bicep or the dragon writhing over the other.
He shrugged a massive shoulder. “Been a pain in the butt, but we’ve managed.”
“What about the crew working inside the courthouse? Have you had a high turnover there?”
“Julio, not there, over there!” He waved at a worker on a backhoe before speaking tersely into his walkie-talkie.
When he looked down at me with irritation, I persisted. “The courthouse interior. Have any workers been spooked, reported anything strange?”
“Haven’t paid any attention. Laborers come and go.”
“What do you do when a large number don’t show?”
He flashed a grin. “We go to the labor-supply companies.”
“And I bet if I checked your roster, I would find it doesn’t match up with your declaration for workers’ compensation.”
His smile faded into a scowl. In south Florida construction companies often sent supervisors with pickup trucks or vans to street corners in heavily Haitian and Hispanic populated communities. For a day’s pay in cash they would get cheap labor that wouldn’t be reported, thus saving on their insurance and tax overhead.
“What do you wa
nt to know?”
“Any rumors of strange things happening inside?”
“A few men complained of hearing the clip-clap of shoes in the fourth-floor hallway, but when they went to look, no one was there. Then there have been a couple of accidents.”
“What kind of accidents?”
“One man claimed he was pushed down the stairs and after he fell, he saw no one.”
Stan swiped his brow with his forearm. “Immediately the workers leaped to the conclusion that there’s a ghost on the fourth floor. People feeling cold spots, like someone is watching them. Things like that. The gossip’s gotten so bad that I can’t get anyone to work on the top floor. In fact Juan and I plan to do the finishing work ourselves over the new few weeks.”
Juan hadn’t done grunt work for years. He was into being the head honcho, dealing with clients. The pressure to complete the restoration by the scheduled grand opening had to be great. I wondered if the company’s finances were as strong as Juan made them out to be.
“Heard anything that goes bump in the night yourself?”
Stan hesitated for a fraction of a second before shaking his head. “Nah.”
“Did you know Grace Roberts?”
“I don’t deal with the restoration folks other than to yell at them. They’re Juan’s department.”
Stan didn’t actually answer my question but his walkie-talkie erupted again. He answered and then swore in a way that would put any sailor to shame. “Look, I gotta go.”
“One more question. Any men who got spooked still on the crew?”
“Francelus. Haitian. Doesn’t speak English. Over there.” With a jerk of his thumb, Stan strode off toward the courthouse.
I watched his back for a moment, debating whether I should follow to see what the latest crisis was. But a long, drawn-out whistle accompanied by catcalls drew my attention to a crew of men by a truck. I gathered they were supposed to be unloading it, but they were having more fun calling out lurid suggestions in various languages. Fortunately or rather unfortunately, due to my years abroad, I could understand them.
“Hey, baby.” One man, speaking with a heavy Spanish accent and wearing a red bandanna, broke apart from the others and swaggered a few steps toward me.
Courting Danger Page 12