“You can pick on me if you want,” Echo said, “but leave her out of it.”
Rabbit stood. “Or what? Noise I’ve heard, you’re not much of a gent around the ladies. Your probation officer know where you are? Better be careful. Ishmael’s not here to bail you out this time.”
Rabbit towered over Echo, but Echo had a good forty pounds more muscle. Muscle, and a way of carrying his body that suggested that he knew how to use it to advantage.
Leroy shoved between the two men. “Enough. You’re both acting like you’re three pickles shy of a full quart. This is my boat. My rules. Now shake hands.” They hesitated, nostrils flaring. “You can count your fingers when you’re done, but by God you’re going to shake hands.”
Echo held out his hand first. Rabbit gave a single pump and drew back.
Beneath her Prada glasses, a feral grin lit Lindsey’s face. “This is going to be great for ratings.”
—
The tension that had emanated from the Spirited Divers settled around the boat like a fog through which no one could navigate. It took only two dives before Leroy called it a night. Mer mustered the last of her energy to pick up a pizza and then headed home.
A tantalizing scent greeted her the moment she opened the car door, and she heard Selkie hail her. Juggling the pizza box and her backpack, she made her way into his backyard, where she discovered him grilling. An apron two sizes too small made a valiant effort to cover his gray cargo shorts and failed miserably at protecting more than a tiny swath of his T-shirt. The juxtaposition of Selkie’s brawn and the frilly bib erased her fatigue, and a giggle bubbled up before she could stifle it. “Now I know what to get you for Christmas.”
He held long grilling tongs but still managed to strike a pose, leg turned out and hand on hip. “And what’s wrong with this one?”
“Dare I say it lends you a certain”—she waved her free hand in a small circle—“je ne sais quoi.”
“That’s exactly the look I was going for.” He lifted the corner of the steak and readjusted its position. “You planning to stay through the holidays?”
After the week she’d had, the prospect of another three months in the Keys made her want to reach for a different kind of spirits—high-octane and found in a bottle. “Not if I can help it.”
Disappointment shadowed his face for a blink and then was gone, as elusive as the green flash at sundown.
The heavy smell of steak made her mouth water. “Is that tri-tip?”
Juice dripped between the grates and caused a momentary flare-up. Unconcerned, Selkie tipped his beer bottle to douse the flame, then rewarded himself with a pull. “I grill a mean steak.”
Few things in life curled Mer’s toes: a masterly non sequitur, a well-written research paper, and a California tri-tip. Medium rare. A bit of salsa to spice it up.
“So tender it’ll make you cry.”
She stiffened. He’d made her cry enough for one lifetime. “I’m sure you do, but I’m a vegetarian.”
“I may have just lost all respect for you,” he said.
“Judging by your behavior, I’m certain it’s a small loss.”
A slow smile softened his features. “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong.”
Damn the man. Within three minutes, he’d sucked her back into his orbit. Held her there with an attraction she couldn’t deny. But history had proven that theirs was an elliptical orbit, sometimes close enough to touch, more often at extremes. Even when she thought she’d broken away, five words and a smoldering look drew her back for another go-round.
Heat bled through the bottom of the pizza box, and she shifted it to her other hand. “Well, then, I’m wrong. Have a good night.”
He turned off the propane and transferred the beef to a platter perched on the edge of the grill. “Join me for dinner?”
Her heart did a little flip in her chest, but she raised one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “Vegetarian, remember?” Double damn.
He sniffed the air like a hound on a chase, then, without warning, lifted the lid of the pizza box. “Which is why you ordered pepperoni?”
She slammed the lid closed. “I like the extra grease.”
“I have a Master of Science in defense analysis, with an emphasis on historical and comparative perspectives on special operations.”
“They have degrees for that?”
“Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey. I wrote my thesis on psychological operations and deception. So you can cut the crap about being a vegetarian.”
She mouthed the word “Oh,” but no sound came out.
“So?” He used the tongs to point at the tri-tip resting on the plate. “Care to join me?”
She weighed the options. Greasy cardboard pizza or, based on the smell coming from the grill, a little slice of heaven. “Do you have salsa?”
“Can’t have Santa Maria–style barbecue without it.”
The man knew his meat. Which sounded creepy in her mind, and she was glad that, for once, she’d engaged her filter before speaking.
She eyeballed the pizza. “Let me get rid of this. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
He nodded, grabbed the platter, and disappeared up the steps.
Inside her home, Mer stashed the pizza box in the fridge on the shelf below an expired yogurt and a Chinese-takeout container that dated from the Ming Dynasty, then rushed into the bathroom. Selkie was the most infuriating man she’d ever met, and she behaved like a tongue-tied underclassman around him. An underclassman with a puzzling desire to primp before she went out to join him.
She’d analyze that later.
The wild-haired woman in the mirror convinced her that she needed a quick shower. Stripping, she glimpsed her naked body. Tan lines striped her shoulders, and her breasts glowed a white not even found in the Arctic. She made a mental note to apply more sunscreen and turned on the shower taps.
Most days her toilette consisted of a quick rinse, a swipe of Burt’s Bees lip balm, and brushing her teeth. Tonight she added a frantic scavenger hunt through her lingerie drawer for matching undies, and came to the sad realization that color coordination simply did not exist in her skill set. She slipped into a clean pair of shorts and a V-necked top and called it good.
Brown hair curled around her face. She tilted her head side to side, pleased with the effect. If past events were any indication, she’d have approximately ten minutes before it started to frizz in the humidity.
She dropped the comb into the vanity drawer and it clanked against a rectangular glass vial with a golden top. Must de Cartier parfum. Her mother had given it to her with the admonition that, no matter what she wore, a dab of the right perfume would always make her feel gorgeous. It was a flawed argument, but the sentiment was nice.
She and her mother had spent the better part of an afternoon bellied up to the cosmetics counter at Nordstrom, spritzing perfume on her ever-decreasing surface area. Her mother had relented only when Mer pleaded light-headedness, but in the shoe department a funny thing happened. One scent caught her fancy and refused to let go. Sandalwood and vanilla supported the mandarin scent like a brilliant hypothesis meant to be explored. Her relationship with the House of Cartier had lasted through grad school, walked with her across the stage when the university conferred her doctorate, and even traveled with her to one end of the earth. Not many men would do that.
Would Selkie?
What an absurd thought. He’d had his chance and answered that question.
She bumped the drawer closed with her hip, then paused and retrieved the perfume bottle. Mom had a decent track record for being right, even if she went about it with intuition versus data. Mer dabbed a bit behind her ears, and a drop on her wrists. She hesitated, then, before she could change her mind, she applied a bit more of the amber liquid to her cleavage.
She told herself that the perfume would make her feel gorgeous, that she needed the confidence to spar with Selkie, but there was an uglier truth. She wanted him to regret his decision to walk a
way all those years ago.
She’d analyze that later, too.
—
“How do you know when someone’s lying?”
Mer and Selkie lounged on his balcony. Waves played like music in the background. The tri-tip had been devoured, leaving only a puddle of savory juice as evidence of its existence. A Caprese salad and half a watermelon had met a similar fate. Plates littered the table, but neither of them was in any hurry to clean up.
Selkie refilled Mer’s wineglass, then his own. “Body language, microexpressions, environmental evidence, prior intel, and, of course, the occasional wild-ass guess.”
Her intellectual curiosity stirred. “And me?”
“Which time?”
That took her aback. She stared through the railing at the crashing waves and tried to decide how to answer. “Not eating meat,” she finally admitted.
“Oh, that was easy. You only shrugged one shoulder as you reiterated that you were a vegetarian.”
“That’s it? You based your conclusion on one facet of information?”
He relaxed into his chair. “Oh, no. First, you’re a very expressive woman. I’d stay away from poker if I were you. Then I smelled the pepperoni. That was a biggie. But even that paled in comparison to the orgasmic expression that lit up your face when I told you I grilled a mean steak and then invited you to dinner.”
She flushed hotly. “I did not!”
“Who’s the expert at the table?”
“Fine. What else do you think I lied about?”
“Not wanting to kiss me.” He spoke authoritatively.
She slid her wineglass in front of her and played with the stem. “I never said that.”
“I had a five-finger imprint on my face that begs to differ.”
“Given our history, perhaps you should be glad I wasn’t holding anything.”
“One’s desire and one’s actions don’t always play nice with each other. Deny it if it makes you feel better—but you enjoyed the kiss.” He moved her wineglass aside and grasped her hand, gently squeezing when she tried to tug free. “Hiding behind obstacles is another tell. In fact, about the only thing you haven’t done is tug on your ear.”
“My hand appears to be otherwise occupied.”
He let go. “Have you applied for any research positions?”
She missed his touch as soon as it was gone. “Two. One’s a long shot—it’s with the University of Alaska. But the other one is in your old stomping grounds. The Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute just funded a study of flapjack octopuses.”
“Let me guess. Looks something like a pancake?”
“Only if you squint.”
Their easy repartee relaxed Mer, and she realized how much she’d enjoyed the evening. He was a gracious host. But then he’d always had a knack for making her feel comfortable. Special.
She sipped her wine. Heady notes of blackberry and leather filled her nose. “The application period has closed. I’ve already had my Skype interviews—now I’m just waiting to hear. Can’t come soon enough after all this.”
“You say that now.” He stacked their plates. “Just wait. The Keys get into your blood.”
The taste of the Cabernet lingered in her mouth. She lifted her hair off her neck and let it fall over her shoulder. The night was still, and the heat of the evening matched the heat building within her body. She wondered what her body language said now.
I would very much like to kiss you. She skittered away from the truth. Baby steps.
“I owe you an apology,” Selkie said.
The words came without preamble, and she wasn’t prepared for them.
“That summer,” he continued. “I can make all kinds of excuses, but my behavior was unacceptable. I’m sorry.”
She still didn’t know what to say. His actions had haunted her for years. Influenced every subsequent interaction with anyone harboring a Y chromosome. She’d dreamed of this day, never once believing it would be upon her.
Yet here it was.
Here he was. Impossibly handsome, incredibly smart—
“You are a fascinating woman, Mer. I would understand completely if you said you wanted nothing to do with me.” He grinned. “Of course, I know you’d be lying.”
—still infuriating.
He pushed back from the table and offered her his hand. “May I kiss you?”
The question required serious consideration. There would be repercussions no matter her answer. Was the benefit worth the risk?
She mentally slapped herself. He was asking for a kiss, not a commitment—and she very much wanted to kiss him. She placed her hand in his. “Yes.”
Dipping his head, he brushed his lips against hers, tentatively. He pulled back and searched her eyes.
Baby steps.
She raised her fingers to his face and traced the contours. Studied the flecks of gray in his arctic-blue eyes. Felt his warmth through her fingertips until it flooded her whole body.
Standing on tiptoes, she brushed her lips against his.
His arms tightened around her. He kissed her again, cupping her face and laying his cheek against hers before kissing her a third time. Harder. Seeking. Her lips parted. She tasted wine and possibility.
“You smell good,” he said against her neck.
The caress of his breath gave her goosebumps. She pressed herself against him, and, for the first time since arriving in the Keys, she didn’t want to be anywhere else.
Chapter 17
Thursday morning arrived too soon. The sheets caressed her skin and she stretched languidly. Rolling onto her belly, she caught the faint scent of her perfume on the pillow. She should send her mother flowers. Of course, then she’d have to explain the occasion, and that could prove awkward. No, maybe she should just be quietly grateful.
Her cellphone trilled. Vito. “My darling brother,” she answered.
“Wow. Someone’s in a good mood. Dare I speculate?”
It was the perfect opening to tell him about Selkie, but she stopped herself. “You’re up early.”
He laughed at her dodge. “No more than usual. I figured you’d have been up for hours.”
The three-hour difference between their time zones meant that one or the other usually called at the wrong time. She raised herself up on her elbows. The clock on the nightstand blinked. Vaguely, she recalled the noise of a squall rolling through during the night at around three, maybe four. She slid out from under the sheet and hid behind the curtain while she peeked outside. The sun brazenly stared back from about three inches above the horizon.
“Did you hear me?” Vito asked.
She pressed her forehead against the sliding glass door and tried to breathe. “What time is it?”
“I knew it!” The miles between them failed to dim his glee. “I’m so telling Mom. Better yet, I think I’ll drop a dime to Franky. I’m pretty sure you broke a commandment.”
“Vito, I swear I will fly over there to kill you.”
“I’ll pick you up at the airport. But, to answer your question, it’s six-thirty here. That makes it, what, time for confession on your coast?”
She did the math in her head. The LunaSea was supposed to sail at eight o’clock—an hour and a half ago. Leroy was going to kill her.
“Did you call me for any particular reason?” she asked.
“That’s what I tried to tell you, O wanton one. I got the results on your print yesterday. Sorry, but there were no hits.”
Disappointment soured her mouth. Or maybe it was just the remnants of wine. Did she even brush her teeth last night? “Because I screwed up the print, or because there’s nothing to be found?”
An alarm chirped and a door slammed. She guessed that Vito was getting into his car. “Difficult to tell. I’m still waiting on the hard copies. Figured I’d get a jump on it by submitting your photographs. By the way, don’t quit your day job. They weren’t great, but they were still good enough to submit. I had a couple of low-percentage possibilitie
s, but no Ishmaels.”
She dropped the curtain and went to the kitchen. She needed coffee. “At least we know he wasn’t a criminal.”
His car roared to life. “Faulty conclusion. Maybe he just hasn’t been caught. Besides, the database holds a lot more fingerprints than those belonging to crooks.”
She blew her bangs out of her face. “I haven’t learned anything.”
“Says my sister the doctor.”
Another couple of minutes wouldn’t make a difference in Leroy’s disposition. She might as well try to salvage something from this phone call. It certainly wouldn’t be her dignity. “What do cops do when they don’t have any evidence?”
“Probably the same thing scientists do. Work another angle.”
“That’s so not helpful. What should I do?”
He sighed. “Let the professionals handle it.”
“They don’t seem interested.”
“And maybe they’re not. Without evidence to the contrary, this is a missing-person case.”
She opened the cabinet and retrieved a mug. Orange juice wouldn’t miraculously change to coffee in it, but at least she’d have the heft of a mug in her hand. “How does something like that get handled?”
“If no suspicious circumstances are attached to the disappearance, it usually results in the guy’s information being entered into the national database. If someone runs across him, he’d be told to call home. Case closed.”
The juice bottle held only a swallow. She tipped it back into her mouth, then put the clean mug back on the shelf. “And if there is something suspicious?”
“Personally, I’d start by running a background check on the victim. Did he have a reason to disappear? Was there trouble in paradise? Domestic issues, money troubles, mental-health concerns? I’d talk to people who know him. They have the best information, even if they don’t realize it.”
She mulled that. Amber, Lindsey, Rabbit, and Echo knew Ishmael far better than she did.
“Hey,” Vito said. “Not to put a crimp on your burgeoning, non-sanctioned detective career, but one of us still has the chance to be early for work.”
“For the record, I didn’t break any commandments.”
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