by Nora Roberts
The shark moved across the sand, as a dog might on a hearth rug. His small, black eyes stared back at them as his gills slowly drew in water. While they huddled just inside the entrance, their bubbles rising up through the porous limestone and toward the surface, the shark shifted restlessly. Jonas reached for Liz’s hand to draw her back, but she moved a bit closer, anxious to see.
In a quick move, the shark shot toward the entrance. Jonas was grabbing for Liz and his knife, when she merely poked at the head with her wooden bat. Without pausing, the shark swam toward the open sea and vanished.
He wanted to strangle her. He wanted to tell her how fascinating she was to watch. Since he could do neither, Jonas merely closed a hand over her throat and gave her a mock shake. Her laughter had bubbles dancing.
They swam on together, parting from time to time to explore separate interests. He decided she’d forgotten his purpose in coming, but thought it was just as well. If she could take this hour for personal freedom, he was glad of it. For him, there were demands.
The water and the life in it were undeniably beautiful, but Jonas noticed other things. They hadn’t seen another diver and their down time was nearly up. The caves where the sharks slept were also a perfect place to conceal a cache of drugs. Only the very brave or the very foolish would swim in their territory at night. He thought of his brother and knew Jerry would have considered it the best kind of adventure. A man with a reason could swim into one of the caves while the sharks were out feeding, and leave or take whatever he liked.
Liz hadn’t forgotten why Jonas had come. Because she thought she could understand a part of what he was feeling, she gave him room. Here, eighty feet below the surface, he was searching for something, anything, to help him accept his brother’s death. And his brother’s life.
It would come to an end soon, Liz reflected. The police had the name of the go-between in Acapulco. And the other name that Jonas had given them, she remembered suddenly. Where had he gotten that one? She looked toward him and realized there were things he wasn’t telling her. That, too, would end soon, she promised herself. Then she found herself abruptly out of air.
She didn’t panic. Liz was too well trained to panic. Immediately, she checked her gauge and saw that she had ten full minutes left. Reaching back, she ran a hand down her hose and found it unencumbered. But she couldn’t draw air.
Whatever the gauge said, her life was on the line. If she swam toward the surface, her lungs would be crushed by the pressure. Forcing herself to stay calm, she swam in a diagonal toward Jonas. When she caught his ankle, she tugged sharply. The smile he turned with faded the moment he saw her eyes. Recognizing her signal, he immediately removed his regulator and passed it to her. Liz drew in air. Nodding, she handed it back to him. Their bodies brushing, her hand firm on his shoulder, they began their slow ascent.
Buddy-breathing, they rose closer to the surface, restraining themselves from rushing. What took only a matter of minutes seemed to drag on endlessly. The moment Liz’s head broke water, she pushed back her mask and gulped in fresh air.
“What happened?” Jonas demanded, but when he felt her begin to shake, he only swore and pulled her with him to the ladder. “Take it easy.” His hand was firm at her back as she climbed up.
“I’m all right.” But she collapsed on a bench, without the energy to draw off her tanks. Her body shuddered once with relief as Jonas took the weight from her. With her head between her knees, she waited for the mists to clear. “I’ve never had anything like that happen,” she managed. “Not at eighty feet.”
He was rubbing her hands to warm them. “What did happen?”
“I ran out of air.”
Enraged, he took her by the shoulders and dragged her back to a sitting position. “Ran out of air? That’s unforgivably careless. How can you give lessons when you haven’t the sense to watch your own gauges?”
“I watched my gauge.” She drew air in and let it out slowly. “I should have had another ten minutes.”
“You rent diving equipment, for God’s sake! How can you be negligent with your own? You might’ve died.”
The insult to her competence went a long way toward smothering the fear. “I’m never careless,” she snapped at him. “Not with rental equipment or my own.” She dragged the mask from her head and tossed it on the bench. “Look at my gauge. I should have had ten minutes left.”
He looked, but it didn’t relieve his anger. “Your equipment should be checked. If you go down with a faulty gauge you’re inviting an accident.”
“My equipment has been checked. I check it myself after every dive, and it was fine before I stored it. I filled those tanks myself.” The alternative came to her even as she finished speaking. Her face, already pale, went white. “God, Jonas, I filled them myself. I checked every piece of equipment the last time I went down.”
He closed a hand over hers hard enough to make her wince. “You keep it in the shop, in that closet.”
“I lock it up.”
“How many keys?”
“Mine—and an extra set in the drawer. They’re rarely used because I always leave mine there when I go out on the boats.”
“But the extra set would have been used when we were away?”
The shaking was starting again. This time it wasn’t as simple to control it. “Yes.”
“And someone used the key to the closet to get in and tamper with your equipment.”
She moistened her lips. “Yes.”
The rage ripped inside him until he was nearly blind with it. Hadn’t he just promised to watch out for her, to keep her safe? With intensely controlled movements, he pulled off his flippers and discarded his mask. “You’re going back. You’re going to pack, then I’m putting you on a plane. You can stay with my family until this is over.”
“No.”
“You’re going to do exactly what I say.”
“No,” she said again and managed to draw the strength to stand. “I’m not going anywhere. This is the second time someone’s threatened my life.”
“And they’re not going to have a chance to do it again.”
“I’m not leaving my home.”
“Don’t be a fool.” He rose. Knowing he couldn’t touch her, he unzipped his wet suit and began to strip it off. “Your business isn’t going to fall apart. You can come back when it’s safe.”
“I’m not leaving.” She took a step toward him. “You came here looking for revenge. When you have it, you can leave and be satisfied. Now I’m looking for answers. I can’t leave because they’re here.”
Struggling to keep his hands gentle, he took her face between them. “I’ll find them for you.”
“You know better than that, don’t you, Jonas? Answers don’t mean anything unless you find them yourself. I want my daughter to be able to come home. Until I find those answers, until it’s safe, she can’t.” She lifted her hands to his face so that they stood as a unit. “We both have reasons to look now.”
He sat, took his pack of cigarettes and spoke flatly. “Erika’s dead.”
The anger that had given her the strength to stand wavered. “What?”
“Murdered.” His voice was cold again, hard again. “A few days ago I met her, paid her for a name.”
Liz braced herself against the rail. “The name you gave to the captain.”
Jonas lit his cigarette, telling himself he was justified to put fear back into her eyes. “That’s right. She asked some questions, got some answers. She told me this Pablo Manchez was bad, a professional killer. Jerry was killed by a pro. So, it appears, was Erika.”
“She was shot?”
“Stabbed,” Jonas corrected and watched Liz’s hand reach involuntarily for her own neck. “That’s right.” He drew violently on the cigarette then hurled it overboard before he rose. “You’re going back to the States until this is all over.”
She turned her back on him a moment, needing to be certain she could be strong. “I’m not leaving, Jonas. We have the same pro
blem.”
“Liz—”
“No.” When she turned back her chin was up and her eyes were clear. “You see, I’ve run from problems before, and it doesn’t work.”
“This isn’t a matter of running, it’s a matter of being sensible.”
“You’re staying.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Then neither do I.”
“Liz, I don’t want you hurt.”
She tilted her head as she studied him. She could believe that, she realized, and take comfort in it. “Will you go?”
“I can’t. You know I can’t.”
“Neither can I.” She wrapped her arms around him, pressed her cheek to his shoulder in a first spontaneous show of need or affection. “Let’s go home,” she murmured. “Let’s just go home.”
10
Every morning when Liz awoke she was certain Captain Moralas would call to tell her it was all over. Every night when she closed her eyes, she was certain it was only a matter of one more day. Time went on.
Every morning when Liz awoke she was certain Jonas would tell her he had to leave. Every night when she slept in his arms, she was certain it was the last time. He stayed.
For over ten years her life had had a certain purpose. Success. She’d started the struggle toward it in order to survive and to provide for her child. Somewhere along the way she’d learned the satisfaction of being on her own and making it work. In over ten years, Liz had gone steadily forward without detours. A detour could mean failure and the loss of independence. It had been barely a month since Jonas had walked into her house and her life. Since that time the straight road she had followed had forked. Ignoring the changes hadn’t helped, fighting them hadn’t worked. Now it no longer seemed she had the choice of which path to follow.
Because she had to hold on to something, she worked every day, keeping stubbornly to her old routine. It was the only aspect of her life that she could be certain she could control. Though it brought some semblance of order to her life, it didn’t keep Liz’s mind at rest. She found herself studying her customers with suspicion. Business thrived as the summer season drew closer. It didn’t seem as important as it had even weeks before, but she kept the shop open seven days a week.
Jonas had taken the fabric of her life, plucked at a few threads and changed everything. Liz had come to the point that she could admit nothing would ever be quite the same again, but she had yet to come to the point that she knew what to do about it. When he left, as she knew he would, she would have to learn all over again how to suppress longings and black out dreams.
They would find Jerry Sharpe’s killer. They would find the man with the knife. If she hadn’t believed that, Liz would never have gone on day after day. But after the danger was over, after all questions were answered, her life would never be as it had been. Jonas had woven himself into it. When he went away, he’d leave a hole behind that would take all her will to mend.
Her life had been torn before. Liz could comfort herself that she had put it together again. The shape had been different, the texture had changed, but she had put it together. She could do so again. She would have to.
There were times when she lay in bed in the dark, in the early hours of the morning, restless, afraid she would have to begin those repairs before she was strong enough.
Jonas could feel her shift beside him. He’d come to understand she rarely slept peacefully. Or she no longer slept peacefully. He wished she would lean on him, but knew she never would. Her independence was too vital, and opposingly, her insecurity was too deep to allow her to admit a need for another. Even the sharing of a burden was difficult for her. He wanted to soothe. Through his adult life, Jonas had carefully chosen companions who had no problems, required no advice, no comfort, no support. A woman who required such things required an emotional attachment he had never been willing to make. He wasn’t a selfish man, simply a cautious one. Throughout his youth, and through most of his adult life, he’d picked up the pieces his brother had scattered. Consciously or unconsciously, Jonas had promised himself he’d never be put in the position of having to do so for anyone else.
Now he was drawing closer and closer to a woman who elicited pure emotion, then tried to deflect it. He was falling in love with a woman who needed him but refused to admit it. She was strong and had both the intelligence and the will to take care of herself. And she had eyes so soft, so haunted, that a man would risk anything to protect her from any more pain.
She had completely changed his life. She had altered the simple, tidy pattern he’d been weaving for himself. He needed to soothe, to protect, to share. There was nothing he could do to change that. Whenever he touched her, he came closer to admitting there was nothing he would do.
The bed was warm and the room smelled of the flowers that grew wild outside the open window. Their scent mixed with the bowl of potpourri on Liz’s dresser. Now and then the breeze ruffled through palm fronds so that the sound whispered but didn’t disturb. Beside him was a woman whose body was slim and restless. Her hair spread over her pillow and onto his, carrying no more fragrance than wind over water. The moonlight trickled in, dipping into corners, filtering over the bed so he could trace her silhouette. As she tossed in sleep, he drew her closer. Her muscles were tense, as though she were prepared to reject the gift of comfort even before it was offered. Slowly, as her breath whispered at his throat, he began to massage her shoulders. Strong shoulders, soft skin. He found the combination irresistible. She murmured, shifting toward him, but he didn’t know if it was acceptance or request. It didn’t matter.
She felt so good there; she felt right there. All questions, all doubts could wait for the sunrise. Before dawn they would share the need that was in both of them. In the moonlight, in the quiet hours, each would have what the other could offer. He touched his mouth lightly, ever so lightly, to hers.
She sighed, but it was only a whisper of a sound—a sigh in sleep as her body relaxed against his. If she dreamed now, she dreamed of easy things, calm water, soft grass. He trailed a hand down her back, exploring the shape of her. Long, lean, slender and strong. He felt his own body warm and pulse. Passion, still sleepy, began to stir.
She seemed to wake in stages. First her skin, then her blood, then muscle by muscle. Her body was alert and throbbing before her mind raced to join it. She found herself wrapped around Jonas, already aroused, already hungry. When his mouth came to hers again, she answered him.
There was no hesitation in her this time, no moment of doubt before desire overwhelmed reason. She wanted to give herself to him as fully as it was possible to give. It wouldn’t be wise to speak her feelings out loud. It couldn’t be safe to tell him with words that her heart was stripped of defenses and open for him. But she could show him, and by doing so give them both the pleasure of love without restrictions.
Her arms tightened around him as her mouth roamed madly over his. She drew his bottom lip inside the heat, inside the moistness of her mouth and nibbled, sucked until his breath came fast and erratic. She felt the abrupt tension as his body pressed against hers and realized he, too, could be seduced. He, too, could be aroused beyond reason. And she realized with a heady sort of wonder that she could be the seducer, she could arouse.
She shifted her body under his, tentatively, but with a slow rhythm that had him murmuring her name and grasping for control. Instinctively she sought out vulnerabilities, finding them one by one, learning from them, taking from them. Her tongue flicked over his throat, seeking then enjoying the subtle, distinct taste of man. His pulse was wild there, as wild as hers. She shifted again until she lay across him and his body was hers for the taking.
Her hands were inexperienced so that her stroking was soft and hesitant. It drove him mad. No one had ever been so sweetly determined to bring him pleasure. She pressed kisses over his chest, slowly, experimentally, then rubbed her cheek over his skin so that the touch both soothed and excited.
His body was on fire, ye
t it seemed to float free so that he could feel the passage of air breathe cool over his flesh. She touched, and the heat spread like brushfire. She tasted and the moistness from her lips was like the whisper of a night breeze, cooling, calming.
“Tell me what you want.” She looked up and her eyes were luminous in the moonlight, dark and beautiful. “Tell me what to do.”
It was almost more than he could bear, the purity of the request, the willingness to give. He reached up so that his hands were lost in her hair. He could have kept her there forever, arched above him with her skin glowing gold in the thin light, her hair falling pale over her shoulders, her eyes shimmering with need. He drew her down until their lips met again. Hunger exploded between them. She didn’t need to be told, she didn’t need to be taught. Her body took over so that her own desire drove them both.
Jonas let reason go, let control be damned. Gripping her hips, he drew her up, then brought her to him, brought himself into her with a force that had her gasping in astonished pleasure. As she shuddered again, then again, he reached for her hands. Their fingers linked as she arched back and let her need set the pace. Frantic. Desperate. Uncontrollable. Pleasure, pain, delight, terror all whipped through her, driving her on, thrusting her higher.
He couldn’t think, but he could feel. Until that moment, he wouldn’t have believed it possible to feel so much so intensely. Sensations racked him, building and building and threatening to explode until the only sound he could hear was the roar of his own heart inside his head. With his eyes half open he could see her above him, naked and glorious in the moonlight. And when she plunged him beyond sensation, beyond sight and reason, he could still see her. He always would.
It didn’t seem possible. It didn’t, Liz thought, seem reasonable that she could be managing the shop, dealing with customers, stacking equipment when her system was still soaking up every delicious sensation she’d experienced just before dawn. Yet she was there, filling out forms, giving advice, quoting prices and making change. Still it was all mechanical. She’d been wise to delegate the diving tours and remain on shore.