Polly turned to face him again. “You’ve got to be kidding. Would I like to see your boat? I guess it’s more original than etchings.”
He doubted she’d laugh if he told her he had some etchings on the boat. “Let me take you out in the dinghy, then. Peaceful out there.”
“You think I’m going to get into a little rubber boat with a man I don’t know?”
Smiling didn’t come easily, never had, but he managed. “You might. Never any harm in asking.”
“No, thank you.”
“I’m good with boats. Safe. I’ll take care of you.”
Where there’d been a blush, pallor seeped in. “I don’t need taking care of—-by anyone.”
This was not going well.
She said, “I can keep myself safe.” But she didn’t try to leave. “What do you think of answering machines?”
A flurry of activity passed between the gulls, and they took off, crying and swooping, their wings battering the air.
“Did you ask me what I think of answering machines?”
“Simple enough question.”
“Okay. I think answering machines are great.”
“Because you can leave messages you’d be afraid to give in person?”
He couldn’t begin to guess where this was going. “Because they make it possible to make sure you don’t miss a call. And you don’t have to be tethered to the damn phone all the time.”
“I’ve got to get back.”
“No you don’t. You’re through for the day.”
Her hand went to her throat. “You don’t know that?”
“Sure I do. When you leave here you’ll go to your condo. Alone. Your boy’s not with you at the moment.”
A sharp breath made a scraping sound in her throat. “Good night.”
Automatically, Nasty stepped aside. “Yeah, sure.”
When she drew level, she paused, and whispered, “Leave me alone, please. I haven’t done anything to you.”
By the time he rallied she was several yards away. He caught up easily. “Polly? Look, if I upset you, I’m sorry. Of course you haven’t done anything to me. I thought it was time we talked. Nothing more complicated than that.”
She stopped and stared toward the sky. “Time we talked? Now why on earth would it be time we talked?”
“I put that badly. I guess I haven’t had a whole lot of practice at this”—he spread his arms—“and before you ask me what ‘this’ is, I mean coming on to women without at least asking them to dance or buying them a drink first.”
“Charming,” she said through her teeth. There was fire in those blue eyes now. “If some woman is stupid enough to dance with you, or let you buy her a drink, you think you can come on to her.”
“Geez, not exactly. I mean, not—”
“She’s supposed to understand you expect sex? Men like you are a menace.”
“I do not—”
“Well, you and I haven’t danced, and you haven’t bought me a drink.”
“Would you like a drink?” He groaned aloud.
Polly wrinkled her nose. “That’s disgusting.”
“You looked at my chest.”
She covered her mouth.
He should have stayed in the dinghy. “I mean, I think you find me attractive, too. I think I turn you…” Great going, Ferrito. “We may have a mutual appeal.”
“You are absolutely unbelievable. And if you’re doing what I think you’re doing to me, stop it. I don’t have any proof yet, but I’ll get it.”
He gaped at her.
“Oh, I know about scrambling numbers for anonymity, but sooner or later you’ll make a mistake and get caught.”
“Er, sure. Anything you say.” Most people might be wholly confused by what she said. Nasty also knew about scrambling numbers—and a great many other covert procedures. “Polly, we’ve gotten off to a bad start.”
Her laugh cut him. “We haven’t started, period!” With that, she set off at a brisk pace.
Nasty followed. “I guess I’ve said everything wrong. Will you give me another chance? Can I see you again?”
“Not if I see you first.”
He strode along beside her. “That’s a cliché.”
“You ought to know. It’s about the only one I haven’t heard you use.” She glanced at his face, then down. Most people glanced down when they met him. They couldn’t help reacting to his limp.
“If you knew me, you’d like me.”
“I’d hate you. I already do.”
The venom in her tone stopped him, but only for an instant. He fell into step as she turned to walk along another of the bobbing docks. “All I can say is sorry, again. I’ll go away now.”
“Good.”
“You’re very beautiful, you know.”
When she looked sideways at him he could swear there were tears in her eyes. She said, “You just told me you were going away.”
“I am. I wanted to tell you how beautiful you are, though.”
“Thanks. I’ll tell my husband you said so.”
“You don’t have a husband.”
“Who are you?” Her voice rose. “Who are you?”
“Ferrito,” he said quietly. “Nasty Ferrito. Nasty to my friends.”
This time her voice was faint. “Nasty?”
“You can call me Nasty.”
“Nasty?”
“Sure. And don’t ask me why that’s my name because I don’t discuss it.” He didn’t even think about it. “Dusty Miller and I run Room Below. It’s a dive shop. We’re trustworthy people. I’m trustworthy.”
A woman in red climbed from a motor cruiser and set off toward land. The flash of relief on Polly’s face was impossible to miss. “You really are afraid of me, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Good night, Nasty.”
“Aren’t you? Doesn’t matter. I’ll find out why.”
“You’ll leave me alone.” Trotting now, Polly followed the woman.
“If you’re scared, it isn’t because of me. Let me help you.”
“No!” She started to run.
“Lock your doors, Polly.” Jesus Christ, she was terrified. Something had crawled inside her skull and ripped up her nerves. He’d just happened along when she was ready to break. “Do you hear me? Lock yourself in.”
Her strides lengthened, but he kept the same distance between them with no effort.
As she reached the grass verge at the shore end of the docks, Polly paused and looked back at him. Her eyes were dry but wild.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “Talk to me. Let me help you. Tell me what you need, and I’ll make sure you get it.”
She didn’t answer, but sped away once more.
Nasty threw up his hands and said, “Okay, you win. For now. But remember to lock those doors. A lovely woman alone is always vulnerable.”
He let her leave him behind.
So he wasn’t smooth. Maybe he’d handled things badly even. But not badly enough to warrant her behavior. She was scared shitless about something, and he wasn’t through asking what it was. Next time he’d just have to be more forceful.
Yeah, next time he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
When she ran, her long, white skirts flipped up around her knees. Even at a distance he noted how pretty her legs were. She had narrow feet. Nasty Ferrito was a foot man on occasion. Like now. He’d like to kiss Polly Crow’s feet. He’d start with the toes, spend a lot of time on her instep, go slow, very slow— work his way up.
Bless the wet suit.
“Hello, Pretty Polly Put the Kettle On.”
The light on the answering machine still flashed, but a click came, then a buzz.
Polly felt so sick she had to sit down. That was it, the whole message. She pushed strands of hair from her forehead and felt moisture. She was sweating, but she’d been sweating since she left the hard-muscled, cold-eyed diver behind on the waterfront. “…remember to lock those doors. A lovely woman alone is always vulnerable.”
Another click.
“Polly, where are you? It’s your favorite supermodel sister. I’m so sick of being an object, my love. All these pushy people pawing me. Can we meet? Puhleeze? Call me.”
Fabiola. Polly smiled with relief at the sound of her twin’s blessedly familiar voice and reached for the phone.
Click, buzz, click.
She peered at the counter on the answering machine. Six calls and she’d only heard two.
“Oh, Pretty Polly, you haven’t been listening to me. I’m going to have to get very angry with you if you don’t stop disobeying me.”
Click.
She let her hand fall back into her lap. He as much hissed as whispered. Who was he? The clock on the equipment no longer functioned. Why hadn’t she fixed it or bought a new one?
Buzz. Click.
“Heavenly child, I feel you are in need of me. Come to Festus and to me. You are always so calm at Another Reality. I’ll make you some of my latest tea. Soar to Serenity. It’s a Belinda special, darling child.”
Belinda and Festus of Another Reality, a crystals, incense, taro, tea, and Wiccan-wannabe shop, had become good friends to Polly and Bobby.
Click.
“You should be there by now, Polly. You’ve had time to leave the studio and get home. Ah, but I mustn’t be too harsh with you. Perhaps that dreadful producer has kept you late. He is much too involved. Producing. Writing. Directing. Controlling. Be very careful of him, Pet, he wants you, you know. He wants your body, not your mind. I want your mind… and your body. Bye.”
The scream Polly heard was her own. Shaking desperately, she stared at the readout that should have given her the caller’s identification. Blocked. Every time it was blocked.
Who could she ask for help? Venus was out of the question. Fabiola would panic, too. Belinda and Festus already knew and had suggested incense and a goddess to do something or other.
Once more the buzz on the line was followed by a click, and the whisperer said, “You have tried my patience, Pretty Polly. Why can’t you understand that I, and only I, am to see the woman you really are. That thin, white skirt”—he gave a grating moan—“with the light shining through. And the wind blowing. You know what that does. You do these things deliberately. Light and wind. Showing your legs. Oh, yes, your legs…”
The connection broke before the final message began. First there was only panting, then he said, “I’ve given you chances. I told you there is a connection between us. But you have denied me again. Others saw you on the dock, flaunting yourself. Disgusting. But don’t worry, little Polly, I’m going to save you from yourself.”
Two
“Starstruck fool,” Dusty Miller muttered. “Goddamn idiot groupie. Man of your age ought to know better. If Roman was here, he’d have your ass for—”
“My love life—or lack of it—is my business,” Nasty pointed out.
“It’s your business till you let it mess you up, then it’s mine, too, partner.” Dusty’s brush of short, white hair and his jutting brows emphasized leathery skin burned to a permanent mahogany color by years in the sun. An ex-Navy SEAL himself, he’d been Nasty’s instructor when he’d first gone into training for an Underwater Demolitions Team. Roman Wilde, Nasty’s closest friend, had also been a new recruit. Currently Roman was Dusty’s absent show-and-tell in the paragon-for-a-man’s-life department.
Nasty was edgy enough without Dusty’s needling. “Let’s get down to business.”
“You need a clear head for business. Right now your brains are in your pants. That’s not the kind of clear head I want from you. Roman would say—”
“Roman would point out that you don’t have the best track record with women.” The instant the words left Nasty’s mouth he regretted them, but there was no going back—ever. “Don’t interfere, Dusty, okay?”
Dusty shuffled through dive cruise brochures on the shop counter. Opening time was ten, still an hour away. “My record with women is just fine, bucko. If some sonovabitch hadn’t thrown a grenade into that schoolhouse, Sammy’d be here with me today.” Sammy had been Vietnamese and the love of Dusty’s life.
“Hey,” Nasty said. “Pax, huh? I shouldn’t have made that dig. You didn’t have any control over what happened to Sammy.”
“Drop it,” Dusty said shortly. “That was then. This is now. I gotta stop what I see happenin’ here.”
“Nothing’s happening,” Nasty pointed out. He ripped open a box of valves and started stacking them. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
Flexing his arthritic fingers, Dusty came from behind the counter. “What does that mean?”
Situated in a recessed area of shops fronting Marina Park at the north end of the Kirkland waterfront, Room Below was an airy space. Yellow, Dusty’s hallmark color, dominated the decor. The shelves were painted yellow, the counters were yellow, yellow plastic chairs were provided for customers to sit in and try on wet suit boots, or fins—or to shoot the breeze with Dusty. Yellow slatted blinds hung at the windows, and yellow tiles covered the floor.
“Yellow,” Nasty muttered. “Hate yellow.”
“I asked what you meant,” Dusty said, advancing. Despite his wiry, white regulation cut, no one would look into his laser blue eyes and take him for a man in his mid-sixties. “Nuthin’s happenin’ and maybe that’s the problem? What the fuck does that mean?”
“I thought you were trying to give up swearing because of Junior.” Junior was Roman’s little girl and Dusty’s favorite human being.
A smile instantly drove ripples of lines into Dusty’s thin face. “She ain’t here, more’s the pity. I don’t see her often enough. Answer the question.”
“Forget it. I don’t know what I meant.” He meant he wasn’t cut out to be a shopkeeper—even if the wares were related to his occupation of choice.
“You miss bein’ in the service.”
Nasty flopped into one of the too-bright chairs and shoved his long legs out in front of him. He unwrapped a stick of gum. “We both miss the Navy.”
“That ankle givin’ you problems?”
Nasty looked dispassionately at the knotted scars webbing his left ankle. “It never gave me enough problems to warrant them trying to stuff me behind a desk.”
Dusty grunted. “You gotta adjust.”
“I have adjusted. How’re the sign-ups for the next classes?”
“Full. The regular series and the fast track. We got three for the rescue course, too.” He flipped through a ledger. “You still got two weeks off. But then it’s back out there with the newbies.”
“Dandy.”
“Shit!” Dusty pulled a chair to face Nasty’s and sat down. “Okay, we’re goin’ to do this now. No punches, bucko. Damn, but you’ve got cold eyes.”
Nasty laughed. “Where the hell did that come from?”
“It came from in here.” The older man thumped his chest. “I’m used to you. I forget what an icy bastard you are. Nuthin’ shows on that face of yours.”
“Useful in my line of business. You’re sneaking cigarettes again.”
“It used to be useful in the line of business you used to be in,” Dusty reminded him. He ignored the reference to cigarettes. “For the business we’re in right now it might be nice if you could crack a grin now and then.”
“I’m not a stand-up comedian. Trust is what I need to inspire, and I do that.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Inside his khaki bush shirt, Dusty’s chest expanded. “You’re bored. That’s what you’re tellin’ me. I twisted your arm to come in here with me because I was lookin’ for a way to get your mind off bein’ mad at the Navy—and the rest of the world. I should’ve let you be mad and get it over with. You got plenty of money. You don’t need this place. Never spent a dime on anything as far as I can remember—except for that damn fool boat you hole up on. Nuthin’ but a damn fool ornery cat for company.”
Nasty stacked his hands behind his neck and stared at the ceiling. He shifted his gum to a cheek, and said,
“I like my boat And my cat.” But they weren’t enough.
“I might have to cut down on the classes I offer and get someone to stick around the shop, but I could manage some of the classes on my own.”
“Meaning?” Nasty asked, snapping his attention to Dusty’s frowning face.
“Meaning if you want out, you got it. I ain’t going to try to tie you down if you need to move on.”
The sun was up. Pale and lacking warmth, but up. A winking path of silver speckled across the lake. “I don’t want to move on,” Nasty said honestly. “It isn’t that. Something’s changing for me. There’s more than what I’ve got—what I’ve always had. Just myself. And you, of course. But I want more. You know what I mean?”
Dusty’s sigh gusted before he coughed. He’d tried for years to quit smoking, but habits of forty some years died hard. “I know what you mean. You’re picky, but your cock’s sending you signals.”
Nasty shook his head and jerked forward to bury his face in his hands. “You don’t get it at all.” Not entirely true. “Well, I guess. I mean, that could be a small part of it.”
“You said it, not me.”
“What does that mean?” Nasty looked at Dusty, then laughed. “Oh, yeah. Very funny. I think I could find some witnesses to tell you there’s nothing small about me. Geez, could we get some other color in here? Like black, maybe?”
“No. Don’t change the subject.”
“This place is so damn happy, happy. It makes me want to puke.”
“Yellow’s Junior’s favorite color.”
“Junior isn’t a partner in this business. She comes once a year. And yellow is your favorite color.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Yellow is my favorite color. It was Sammy’s, too. We always said we’d have a house full of kids, and a lot of yellow.”
Nasty decided to leave that alone. “We’re doing well here, Dust. It’s a success.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m glad. For both of us. You ought to have Rose down for a visit. Take her out. We’ll hire some help like you said for when we’re both away from the shop.”
From the town of Past Peak in the nearby foothills of the Cascade Mountains, eccentric, reclusive Rose Smothers was a friend of several years. There’s been a time when Nasty had acted as her sole watchdog. Now Dusty shared the job.
Guilty Pleasures Page 2