by Nora Roberts
“I didn’t realize your shop was affiliated with the hotel.”
“It’s not.” She paused at a stop sign. “I used to work in the hotel. As a maid.” Liz gunned the engine and zipped across the intersection.
He looked at her hands, lean and delicate on the handlebars. He studied her slender shoulders, thought of the slight hips he was even now holding. It was difficult to imagine her lugging buckets and pails. “I’d have thought you more suited to the front desk or the concierge.”
“I was lucky to find work at all, especially during the off season.” She slowed the bike a bit as she started down the long drive to El Presidente. She’d indulge herself for a moment by enjoying the tall elegant palms that lined the road and the smell of blooming flowers. She was taking one of the dive boats out today, with five beginners who’d need instruction and constant supervision, but she wondered about the people inside the hotel who came to such a place to relax and to play.
“Is it still gorgeous inside?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Jonas glanced ahead to the large stately building. “Lots of glass,” he told her. “Marble. The balcony of my room looks out over the water.” She steered the bike to the curb. “Why don’t you come in? See for yourself.”
She was tempted. Liz had an affection for pretty things, elegant things. It was a weakness she couldn’t allow herself. “I have to get to work.”
Jonas stepped onto the curb, but put his hand over hers before she could drive away. “I’ll meet you at the house. We’ll go into town together.”
She only nodded before turning the bike back toward the road. Jonas watched her until the sound of the motor died away. Just who was Elizabeth Palmer? he wondered. And why was it becoming more and more important that he find out?
By evening she was tired. Liz was used to working long hours, lugging equipment, diving, surfacing. But after a fairly easy day, she was tired. It should have made her feel secure to have had the young policeman identify himself to her and join her customers on the dive boat. It should have eased her mind that Captain Moralas was keeping his word about protection. It made her feel caged.
All during the drive home, she’d been aware of the police cruiser keeping a discreet distance. She’d wanted to run into her house, lock the door and fall into a dreamless, private sleep. But Jonas was waiting. She found him on the phone in her living room, a legal pad on his lap and a scowl on his face. Obviously a complication at his office had put him in a nasty mood. Ignoring him, Liz went to shower and change.
Because her wardrobe ran for the most part to beachwear, she didn’t waste time studying her closet. Without enthusiasm, she pulled out a full cotton skirt in peacock blue and matched it with an oversized red shirt. More to prolong her time alone than for any other reason, she fiddled with her little cache of makeup. She was stalling, brushing out her braided hair, when Jonas knocked on her door. He didn’t give her time to answer before he pushed it open.
“Did you get the list?”
Liz picked up a piece of notepaper. She could, of course, snap at him for coming in, but the end result wouldn’t change. “I told you I would.”
He took the paper from her to study it. He’d shaved, she noticed, and wore a casually chic jacket over bone-colored slacks. But the smoothness and gloss didn’t mesh with the toughness around his mouth and in his eyes. “Do you know these places?”
“I’ve been to a couple of them. I don’t really have a lot of time for bar-or club-hopping.”
He glanced up and his curt answer slipped away. The shades behind her were up as she preferred them, but the light coming through the windows was pink with early evening. Though she’d buttoned the shirt high over her throat, her hair was brushed back, away from her face. She’d dawdled over the makeup, but her hand was always conservative. Her lashes were darkened, the lids lightly touched with shadow. She’d brushed some color over her cheeks but not her lips.
“You should be careful what you do to your eyes,” Jonas murmured, absently running his thumb along the top curve of her cheek. “They’re a problem.”
She felt the quick, involuntary tug but stood still. “A problem?”
“My problem.” Uneasy, he tucked the paper in his pocket and glanced around the room. “Are you ready?”
“I need my shoes.”
He didn’t leave her as she’d expected, instead wandering around her room. It was, as was the rest of the house, furnished simply but with jarring color. The spicy scent he’d noticed before came from a wide green bowl filled with potpourri. On the wall were two colored sketches, one of a sunset very much like the quietly brilliant one outside the window, and another of a storm-tossed beach. One was all serenity, the other all violence. He wondered how much of each were inside Elizabeth Palmer. Prominent next to the bed was a framed photograph of a young girl.
She was all smiles in a flowered blouse tucked at the shoulders. Her hair came to a curve at her jawline, black and shiny. A tooth was missing, adding charm to an oval, tanned face. If it hadn’t been for the eyes, Jonas would never have connected the child with Liz. They were richly, deeply brown, slightly tilted. Still, they laughed out of the photo, open and trusting, holding none of the secrets of her mother’s.
“This is your daughter.”
“Yes.” Liz slipped on the second shoe before taking the photo out of Jonas’s hand and setting it down again.
“How old is she?”
“Ten. Can we get started? I don’t want to be out late.”
“Ten?” A bit stunned, Jonas stopped her with a look. He’d assumed Faith was half that age, a product of a relationship Liz had fallen into while on the island. “You can’t have a ten-year-old child.”
Liz glanced down at the picture of her daughter. “I do have a ten-year-old child.”
“You’d have been a child yourself.”
“No. No, I wasn’t.” She started to leave again, and again he stopped her.
“Was she born before you came here?”
Liz gave him a long, neutral look. “She was born six months after I moved to Cozumel. If you want my help, Jonas, we go now. Answering questions about Faith isn’t part of our arrangement.”
But he didn’t let go of her hand. As it could become so unexpectedly, his voice was gentle. “He was a bastard, wasn’t he?”
She met his eyes without wavering. Her lips curved, but not with humor. “Yes. Oh yes, he was.”
Without knowing why he was compelled to, Jonas bent and just brushed her lips with his. “Your daughter’s lovely, Elizabeth. She has your eyes.”
She felt herself softening again, too much, too quickly. There was understanding in his voice without pity. Nothing could weaken her more. In defense she took a step back. “Thank you. Now we have to go. I have to be up early tomorrow.”
The first club they hit was noisy and crowded with a high percentage of American clientele. In a corner booth, a man in a tight white T-shirt spun records on a turntable and announced each selection with a display of colored lights. They ordered a quick meal in addition to drinks while Jonas hoped someone would have a reaction to his face.
“Luis said they came in here a lot because Jerry liked hearing American music.” Liz nibbled on hot nachos as she looked around. It wasn’t the sort of place she normally chose to spend an evening. Tables were elbow to elbow, and the music was pitched to a scream. Still, the crowd seemed good-natured enough, shouting along with the music or just shouting to each other. At the table beside them a group of people experimented with a bottle of tequila and a bowl of lemon wedges. Since they were a group of young gringos, she assumed they’d be very sick in the morning.
It was definitely Jerry’s milieu, Jonas decided. Loud, just this side of wild and crammed to the breaking point. “Did Luis say if he spoke with anyone in particular?”
“Women.” Liz smiled a bit as she sampled a tortilla. “Luis was very impressed with Jerry’s ability to…interest the ladies.”
“An
y particular lady?”
“Luis said there was one, but Jerry just called her baby.”
“An old trick,” Jonas said absently.
“Trick?”
“If you call them all baby, you don’t mix up names and complicate the situation.”
“I see.” She sipped her wine and found it had a delicate taste.
“Could Luis describe her?”
“Only that she was a knockout—a Mexican knockout, if that helps. She had lots of hair and lots of hip. Luis’s words,” Liz added when Jonas gave her a mild look. “He also said there were a couple of men Jerry talked to a few times, but he always went over to them, so Luis didn’t know what they spoke about. One was American, one was Mexican. Since Luis was more interested in the ladies, he didn’t pay any attention. But he did say Jerry would cruise the bars until he met up with them, then he’d usually call it a night.”
“Did he meet them here?”
“Luis said it never seemed to be in the same place twice.”
“Okay, finish up. We’ll cruise around ourselves.”
By the fourth stop, Liz was fed up. She noticed that Jonas no more than toyed with a drink at each bar, but she was tired of the smell of liquor. Some places were quiet, and on the edge of seamy. Others were raucous and lit with flashing lights. Faces began to blur together. There were young people, not so young people. There were Americans out for exotic nightlife, natives celebrating a night on the town. Some courted on dance floors or over tabletops. She saw those who seemed to have nothing but time and money, and others who sat alone nursing a bottle and a black mood.
“This is the last one,” Liz told him as Jonas found a table at a club with a crowded dance floor and recorded music.
Jonas glanced at his watch. It was barely eleven. Action rarely heated up before midnight. “All right,” he said easily, and decided to distract her. “Let’s dance.”
Before she could refuse, he was pulling her into the crowd. “There’s no room,” she began, but his arms came around her.
“We’ll make some.” He had her close, his hand trailing up her back. “See?”
“I haven’t danced in years,” she muttered, and he laughed.
“There’s no room anyway.” Locked together, jostled by the crowd, they did no more than sway.
“What’s the purpose in all this?” she demanded.
“I don’t know until I find it. Meantime, don’t you ever relax?” He rubbed his palm up her back again, finding the muscles taut.
“No.”
“Let’s try it this way.” His gaze skimmed the crowd as he spoke. “What do you do when you’re not working?”
“I think about working.”
“Liz.”
“All right, I read—books on marine life mostly.”
“Busman’s holiday?”
“It’s what interests me.”
Her body shifted intimately against his. Jonas forgot to keep his attention on the crowd and looked down at her. “All that interests you?”
He was too close. Liz tried to ease away and found his arms very solid. In spite of her determination to remain unmoved, her heart began to thud lightly in her head. “I don’t have time for anything else.”
She wore no perfume, he noted, but carried the scent of powder and spice. He wondered if her body would look as delicate as it felt against his. “It sounds as though you limit yourself.”
“I have a business to run,” she murmured. Would it be the same if he kissed her again? Sweet, overpowering. His lips were so close to hers, closer still when he ran his hand through her hair and drew her head back. She could almost taste him.
“Is making money so important?”
“It has to be,” she managed, but could barely remember why. “I need to buy some aqua bikes.”
Her eyes were soft, drowsy. They made him feel invulnerable. “Aqua bikes?”
“If I don’t keep up with the competition…” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
“The competition?” he prompted.
“I…the customers will go someplace else. So I…” The kiss teased the other corner.
“So?”
“I have to buy the bikes before the summer season.”
“Of course. But that’s weeks away. I could make love with you dozens of times before then. Dozens,” he repeated as she stared at him. Then he closed his mouth over hers.
He felt her jolt—surprise, resistance, passion—he couldn’t be sure. He only knew that holding her had led to wanting her and wanting to needing. By nature, he was a man who preferred his passion in private, quiet spots of his own choosing. Now he forgot the crowded club, loud music and flashing lights. They no longer swayed, but were hemmed into a corner of the dance floor, surrounded, pressed close. Oblivious.
She felt her head go light, heard the music fade. The heat from his body seeped into hers and flavored the kiss. Hot, molten, searing. Though they stood perfectly still, Liz had visions of racing. The breath backed up in her lungs until she released it with a shuddering sigh. Her body, coiled like a spring, went lax on a wave of confused pleasure. She strained closer, reaching up to touch his face. Abruptly the music changed from moody to rowdy. Jonas shifted her away from flailing arms.
“Poor timing,” he murmured.
She needed a minute. “Yes.” But she meant it in a more general way. It wasn’t a matter of time and place, but a matter of impossibility. She started to move away when Jonas’s grip tightened on her. “What is it?” she began, but only had to look at his face.
Cautiously, she turned to see what he stared at. A woman in a skimpy red dress stared back at him. Liz recognized the shock in her eyes before the woman turned and fled, leaving her dance partner gaping.
“Come on.” Without waiting for her, Jonas sprinted through the crowd. Dodging, weaving and shoving when she had to, Liz dashed after him.
The woman had barely gotten out to the street when Jonas caught up to her. “What are you running away from?” he demanded. His fingers dug into her arms as he held her back against a wall.
“Por favor, no comprendo,” she murmured and shook like a leaf.
“Oh yes, I think you do.” With his fingers bruising her arms, Jonas towered over her until she nearly squeaked in fear. “What do you know about my brother?”
“Jonas.” Appalled, Liz stepped between them. “If this is the way you intend to behave, you’ll do without my help.” She turned away from him and touched the woman’s shoulder. “Lo siento mucho,” she began, apologizing for Jonas. “He’s lost his brother. His brother, Jerry Sharpe. Did you know him?”
She looked at Liz and whispered. “He has Jerry’s face. But he’s dead—I saw in the papers.”
“This is Jerry’s brother, Jonas. We’d like to talk to you.”
As Liz had, the woman had already sensed the difference between Jonas and the man she’d known. She’d never have cowered away from Jerry for the simple reason that she’d known herself to be stronger and more clever. The man looming over her now was a different matter.
“I don’t know anything.”
“Por favor. Just a few minutes.”
“Tell her I’ll make it worth her while,” Jonas added before she could refuse again. Without waiting for Liz to translate, he reached for his wallet and took out a bill. He saw fear change to speculation.
“A few minutes,” she agreed, but pointed to an outdoor café. “There.”
Jonas ordered two coffees and a glass of wine. “Ask her her name,” he told Liz.
“I speak English.” The woman took out a long, slim cigarette and tapped it on the tabletop. “I’m Erika. Jerry and I were friends.” More relaxed, she smiled at Jonas. “You know, good friends.”
“Yes, I know.”
“He was very good-looking,” she added, then caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Lots of fun.”
“How long did you know him?”
“A couple of weeks. I was sorry when I heard he was dead.
”
“Murdered,” Jonas stated.
Erika took a deep drink of wine. “Do you think it was because of the money?”
Every muscle in his body tensed. Quickly, he shot Liz a warning look before she could speak. “I don’t know—it looks that way. How much did he tell you about it?”
“Oh, just enough to intrigue me. You know.” She smiled again and held out her cigarette for a light. “Jerry was very charming. And generous.” She remembered the little gold bracelet he’d bought for her and the earrings with the pretty blue stones. “I thought he was very rich, but he said he would soon be much richer. I like charming men, but I especially like rich men. Jerry said when he had the money, we could take a trip.” She blew out smoke again before giving a philosophical little shrug. “Then he was dead.”
Jonas studied her as he drank coffee. She was, as Luis had said, a knockout. And she wasn’t stupid. He was also certain her mind was focusing on one point, and one point alone. “Do you know when he was supposed to have the money?”
“Sure, I had to take off work if we were going away. He called me—it was Sunday. He was so excited. ‘Erika,’ he said, ‘I hit the jackpot.’ I was a little mad because he hadn’t shown up Saturday night. He told me he’d done some quick business in Acapulco and how would I like to spend a few weeks in Monte Carlo?” She gave Jonas a lash-fluttering smile. “I decided to forgive him. I was packed,” she added, blowing smoke past Jonas’s shoulder. “We were supposed to leave Tuesday afternoon. I saw in the papers Monday night that he was dead. The papers said nothing about the money.”
“Do you know who he had business with?”
“No. Sometimes he would talk to another American, a skinny man with pale hair. Other times he would see a Mexican. I didn’t like him—he had mal ojo.”
“Evil eye,” Liz interpreted. “Can you describe him?”
“Not pretty,” she said offhandedly. “His face was pitted. His hair was long in the back, over his collar and he was very thin and short.” She glanced at Jonas again with a sultry smile that heated the air. “I like tall men.”