by Joanna Wayne
Two uniformed officers jumped from the car and strode up the walk to where a young woman was waiting. Damn. That was Jaci. Raoul didn’t try to explain the swell of panic that hit as he hurried toward the house.
By the time he reached it, Jaci and the cops had disappeared through the open front door. Not one for formality, and never big on rules unless they were for other people, Raoul walked to the door and peered into the dark living room.
Seeing no one, he walked inside and followed the voices to the back of the house. The first thing he saw was the body swinging like a slab of meat in a butcher’s cooler. The second was Jaci, ashen faced but toe to toe with a broad-shouldered cop who’d adopted an intimidating stance.
The other cop, younger and slim, caught sight of Raoul.
“We got company, Jake.”
The burly cop turned toward Raoul as well. “State your name and your business here.”
“Raoul Lazario, and—”
“He’s with me,” Jaci said, walking over to stand beside him.
“You didn’t say you had someone with you.”
“He brought me to the island on his boat. He wasn’t aware of my business dealings with Mr. Lowell.”
“So neither of you admit knowing Mac?”
“Is that Mac?” Raoul asked, nodding toward the body.
“That’s him,” Jake said.
“Then I don’t know him.”
“I already explained that I found him like this when I showed up for an appointment,” Jaci said, directing her frustration and her words at Jake. “I didn’t even know for certain the dead man was Mac Lowell until you showed up and said it was him.”
Impulsively, Raoul slipped his arm around her shoulders. Her hair brushed against him, and his insides wobbled.
A fine damn time for his libido to kick in. He let his arm slide back to his side.
“And Mr. Lazario here wasn’t with you when you found the body?” Jake asked.
“No. I was alone.”
“In that case I’ll have to ask you to wait outside until we finish taking her statement, Mr. Lazario.”
Raoul’s gaze locked with Jaci’s troubled one. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
“You don’t have to wait. I can meet you at the boat.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Thanks.” She slipped her hand into his and squeezed.
A quick squeeze. That was it. Then she let go and turned her attention back to the cop who was asking her about the meeting she was supposed to have had with the deceased.
Raoul walked back to the porch and dropped to the top step, stretching his legs and resting his back against the support beam. He wasn’t sure what had happened back there, but he knew he’d crossed some kind of line with Jaci that he’d never intended to cross.
They weren’t on the same side, and he couldn’t let some male protective urge lead to his messing up what he’d come to Cape Diablo to do.
Okay, so maybe the urge hadn’t been strictly protective. But that was understandable considering this was the first time he’d had his arm around a woman in twenty-seven months.
Still, his loyalties lay with Carlos, even more so now that Jaci’s project involved a dead man. The old crime—if there had been one—was better left buried.
Jaci would never see it that way. And Carlos could probably handle her better than Raoul was doing at this point.
The smart thing for him to do would be deliver Jaci to Cape Diablo, try to talk some sense into Carlos, then cruise into the sunset.
But Raoul had never been all that smart about pulling out when trouble stepped in.
THE LAST RAYS OF SUN WERE slashing the sky with yellow and gold by the time Jaci and Raoul made it back to the boat. She’d been silent ever since they’d left Mac Lowell’s house. Her usual high level of exuberance was dulled, and even her eyes showed signs of exhaustion.
Raoul helped her onto the boat, then untied the ropes that held them to the pier. Within five minutes Everglades City faded into the grayish, green mass of islands that made up this part of the gulf.
The channels were choppier than they’d been on the trip over, but the Quest took them in stride.
“Your boat rides the water well,” Jaci said, as if reading his mind.
“Always has. One of her strong points.”
“Have you had it long?”
“About four years.”
The Quest had been the first real luxury he’d ever owned, and he’d never have purchased it if Allison hadn’t fallen in love with it.
It had belonged to a client of Raoul’s, a wealthy investor who held a rabid fascination for anything that moved on water. Before Allison, all Raoul’s energy and money had gone into growing his business.
They hit a wider channel with rougher water, and Jaci pulled up the hood of her jacket, tying it in place.
“You can go inside if you want,” he said. “It’s warmer in the cabin.”
“It’s not really cold, only windy. Besides, I’m hoping the salty sea breeze can clear my head of the images left over from the afternoon.” She pulled her feet up on the bench.
“I wouldn’t think images of death would bother someone planning a career in forensics.”
“It’s the science of gathering all the evidence and solving the puzzle that I like, not the dying.”
“Sounds like splitting hairs to me.”
“So what do you do when you’re not out playing in the gulf?”
There was a time when he’d have loved fielding that question. It would have given him a chance to go on endlessly about something he’d been as passionate about as Jaci was her forensics.
“I’m a treasure diver.”
“Exactly what does a treasure diver do?”
“I locate sunken ships, take my crew down and explore the remains, bringing up whatever we find of personal, anthropological or financial value. Sometimes that includes the ship.”
“Sounds fascinating, especially the anthropological treasures.”
“I haven’t recovered all that many, but recently we salvaged some magnificent Greek statues from a ship that had sunk in the sixteen hundreds.”
“Who got the statues?”
“Most are on loan to a museum in Athens. A few are in the home of a wealthy Greek art collector. He financed the exploration.”
“You must get a thrill making that kind of discovery.”
“I’ve had my moments.” Good and bad, but he wasn’t getting into that. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”
“I’m famished. I guess we should have stopped in one of the restaurants in Everglades City for food and that drink I promised you.”
“You can pay up later. I have a nice cabernet and some ham and Swiss cheese for sandwiches.”
“You’re making my mouth water. The only thing I’ve had since breakfast is the soda I drank on the way over and a margarita in Slinky’s Bar.”
“Then ham and cheese it is.”
By the time Raoul found a quiet cove to drop anchor, the sun had fully descended, and the moon was a floating silver crescent.
“We can eat on the deck or inside,” he said. “If we decide on the deck, I have a small folding table I can set up.”
Jaci followed him into the cabin. He opened the wine first and poured them each a glass. “Cheers,” he said, clinking them together. It was the only toast he could think of that wouldn’t have been awkward in their current situation.
“If we had candlelight so that we could see what we’re eating, I’d prefer the deck,” she said. “It has more of a spirit of adventure about it.”
“I would have thought you’d had enough adventure for one day, but you’re in luck. I don’t think we could keep a candle burning in that breeze, but I have deck lights, nice dim ones that hopefully won’t lure too many bugs.”
Jaci moved out of the way while he retrieved sandwich makings from the refrigerator. The situation got to him again. Sharing space in the small kitchen
seemed too familiar and intimate.
There was no explanation for the way she affected him, and that bothered him as much as anything.
“Can I do something to help?” she asked.
“How about toasting the bread?”
“I can handle that.”
He shoved the loaf down the counter in her direction. “The toaster is next to the coffeepot.”
She toasted the bread and smeared it with a spicy brown mustard while he washed and sliced a firm red tomato he’d bought at the open-air market in Naples just before he’d left for Cape Diablo.
“I’ll set up the table,” he said. “You’re in charge of getting the food and wine outside.”
“What about napkins?”
“Oops. I knew this was going too well. I’m out of napkins. Can’t ever remember to put those on the shopping list.”
“Good. Your preparedness level was starting to make me feel very inadequate. I’ll tear off some paper towels.”
Raoul caught a glimpse of the photograph of him and Allison as he carried the small table onto the deck. An instant knot formed in his throat at the poignant memory of the last time he’d shared wine and a meal with a woman on the Quest. That had been the night he’d asked Allison to marry him.
He swallowed past the lump. He could do this. Tonight wasn’t about romance. It was about a dead man back in Everglades City, and doing right by his uncle. And about two hungry people eating a sandwich.
Neither his mind nor his body bought the lie.
THE WINE AND FOOD WORKED wonders for Jaci’s frame of mind, and for some reason she didn’t quite understand, Mac Lowell’s death had put Raoul in a much more hospitable mood. She didn’t trust it to last, but she was far more relaxed than she’d expected to be after the day’s trauma.
Raoul deserved a lot of credit for salvaging at least part of the day. The rest was the ambiance—gentle waves lapping the side of the boat and a slight breeze rustling the branches of hundreds of mangroves.
She finished her sandwich, then sipped her wine, letting the fruity taste linger on her tongue as she watched the silvery thread of the moon’s reflection shimmer across the still waters of the cove.
Raoul refilled both their glasses, then stretched his feet beneath the small folding table he’d placed near the bow. “Want to talk about your day?”
The offer surprised her, but the truth was she’d like to get someone else’s take on the suicide. “If I talk, will you promise not to get riled up again over my investigation of the Santiago mystery?”
“I promise not to toss you overboard.”
“Good. I hate swimming with gators on a full stomach.”
“I’m not happy about the investigation,” he admitted in a more serious tone, “but I know you don’t need my okay to do this. And I’d really like to know about your dealings with Mac Lowell.”
She took another sip of wine and sifted through the troubling images. “I don’t know how much you overheard, but Mac was a local policeman for a brief period of time years ago.”
“Thirty years ago?”
She nodded. “He was one of the original investigators in the Santiago disappearance.”
“And that’s why you went to see him?”
“Yes. I had been trying to get in touch with him ever since I’d started working on the project, but I’d been unsuccessful until he called last night. Amazingly, he got through on my cell phone.”
“And he agreed to today’s meeting?”
“I had to talk him into it, and even then he wanted to meet me at Slinky’s Bar and not at his home. I didn’t understand the reasoning behind that, but I agreed.”
“Then how did you end up at his house?”
She explained, and Raoul didn’t interrupt until she’d finished recounting the details, including the fact that the two cops on the scene both knew Mac and both seemed shocked that he’d kill himself.
“Maybe he didn’t,” Raoul said. “How hard is it to stage a murder so that it looks like suicide?”
“In this particular case, it wouldn’t have been difficult at all.”
“My guess is he was about to squeal to you, and someone shut him up before he could.”
“I knew that would be the first explanation that popped into your head.”
“Didn’t it pop into yours?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t add up. Why would someone think he’d tell me something that he hadn’t told anyone else in thirty years?”
“Maybe because he agreed to see you.”
“But why would he talk now?”
“He needed to clear his conscience.”
“So why would a cop keep secrets in the first place?” she asked, realizing that she liked bouncing ideas off Raoul. Brainstorming was an excellent crime-solving tool.
“Crooked cops aren’t that unusual, especially where wealthy drug runners and smugglers are involved.”
“And even otherwise honest cops have been known to cooperate with criminals out of fear,” Jaci added. “And Andres would have the kind of enemies who if doublecrossed wouldn’t hesitate to take out a man and his whole family.”
“Which is quite possibly what happened to Andres. But then you know all of that, Jaci. It’s your project.”
“Do you remember Andres Santiago at all?”
“If I ever met him or his wife, I don’t remember them. I was not quite six the night it all went down, and the only thing I recall about the Santiagos was being frightened once by Pilar’s stories about the old witch who lived in the villa.”
A witch in the villa. Now that was interesting. “Do you think they could have been talking about Alma?”
“I think Pilar just liked scaring her older sister and me.”
“I wonder about their stepmother,” Jaci said. “From everything I read she was very beautiful, but had a fiery temper. Have you ever heard Carlos speak of her?”
“No, but then, he never talks about the past with me. It’s as if he’s pushed it from his memory.”
“You still think my investigating the case will upset him, don’t you?”
“One man is dead, Jaci. Release the secrets from thirty years ago and who’s to say there won’t be more victims? Who’s to say the real killer isn’t still nearby, watching and waiting, as desperate as ever to escape punishment? Yeah, I think this could upset him.”
“If you’re trying to frighten me, it won’t work.”
“Then you’re braver than I am. I can’t stop you from going ahead with the investigation, but let Carlos be, Jaci. He’s got enough to deal with.”
Jaci gathered their empty plates. “I think we should head back to Cape Diablo now.”
“Wait.” Raoul grabbed her arm to stop her from walking away. “You asked this morning if I’d broken into your apartment.”
She shrugged. “You said you hadn’t. I believe you. In fact, I’m pretty sure it was Alma. She didn’t take anything and may not have even realized I was staying there. Her grip on reality seems extremely slippery.”
“Which doesn’t mean she’s totally harmless.”
“Are you suggesting she might try to hurt me?”
“Probably not intentionally. Look, Jaci, I know you’re not going to give up the investigation, but you don’t have to stay on the island to complete your project. I think you should pack your things and let me take you back to the mainland.”
“I can’t do that. If the answers exist, they are on Cape Diablo.”
“I could have you thrown off the island, you know.”
The man was exasperating. Fuming, Jaci stamped back into the cabin and stayed there while he put the table away, pulled up the anchor and started the engine.
No way would she let Raoul order her around. Sure, she might be a little attracted to him, but so what?
She was doing just fine without a man in her life.
CARLOS WALKED OUTSIDE AND watched from the top of the boathouse steps as Raoul’s cabin cruiser approached. Hopefully, the late return
meant that he and Jaci had hit it off. It was past time for Raoul to jump back into life. He’d been dealt a bitter blow, but living on memories and regrets made for a painfully lonely existence. No one knew that better than Carlos.
The night air was chilly, and he reached back inside and grabbed his worn black jacket from the hook by the door. Shoving his arms through the sleeves, he took the steps a lot slower than Tamale, who was already bounding down the path that led to the deck.
Originally, the boathouse had sat right over the deck, but after losing two structures to hurricanes, Andres had rebuilt amidst a thick cluster of mangroves, leaving the bottom level open to store fishing equipment, a few tools and the kayak Carlos never used anymore.
Jaci was already out of the boat when he reached the dock. “How was the trip?” he called, letting them know he was there.
She gave him a wave. “Not quite what I expected.”
That could mean anything, but something in her voice made him doubt it was a good sign. “I’ve got some fish soup on the stove if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks, but we ate.”
Just as well. He’d never invited one of the tenants to eat with him before, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to start now. He wouldn’t have even considered it if Raoul hadn’t been there.
By the time his nephew had secured the boat and stepped onto the dock, Jaci was walking away. No goodbyes or see-you-laters. Something had passed between them, but obviously it hadn’t had romantic overtones.
Then again, judging from the way Raoul was just standing there, his muscles all bunched, watching her walk off, it was pretty sure Jaci had at least gotten his attention. There might be hope for them, after all.
“Long day?” Carlos asked.
“Yeah.” Raoul stooped to give Tamale a good head scratching. “I’ll tell you about it inside.”
Carlos suddenly felt tired and almost too weak to make it up the stairs. He stopped at the small, covered landing at the top of the steps, the one spot he could get a clear view of the beach. He glimpsed an erratic, bouncing beam of light near what the season’s storms had left of the dunes. He couldn’t see a figure in the darkness, but knew the señora was out there living the fantasy that had become her reality.