A Lover Awaits

by Patricia Rosemoor

“Get off!”

  “—which gives you one up on me.”

  “At least I’m not crushing the life out of you,” she gasped out, then, because she figured she had to if she ever wanted to breathe normally again, added, “I’m Phoebe Grant. Audra’s sister.”

  With obvious reluctance, he released her hands, his calloused thumbs lightly flicking against her sensitive inner wrists as he drew back. An unfamiliar and unwelcome sensation swamped her. Phoebe trembled and fought the instinct to punch him for giving her such a scare. Even now, sitting back on his haunches, Simon Calderon made her uneasy. His jeans-clad thighs hugged her hips like a lover’s...though his passionless features were anything but loving. Finally, to her relief, he rose, allowing her to scramble to her feet.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Glaring up at him, she said, “I identified myself.”

  “About why you’re here.”

  “I was looking for something.”

  “What?”

  Not knowing why she didn’t tell him about the diary, she said, “Anything...a lead to the murders...”

  Arms crossed over his chest, silent, he waited.

  “You must have heard the official theory,” Phoebe said. “The authorities got it wrong.”

  If she expected Simon to join in, to curse the stupid fools, she was disappointed. It was almost as if...

  Forehead wrinkling, she said, “A killer is running around loose.”

  “More likely dead of a self-inflicted gunshot.”

  She gaped. “You can’t possibly believe that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Boone was your brother! Your twin. Surely you knew him better than anyone.”

  “Exactly.” His simple statement chilled her.

  Phoebe stared, wondering how she could have mistaken him for Boone. Her sister’s lover had never been so judgmental. Had never looked so closed off from human emotion. Simon hadn’t even come to the funeral. He didn’t seem to be grieving for his brother now. He appeared as cold-blooded as the alligators with whom he lived cheek by jowl in his swamp.

  “You really think Boone was capable of murder?”

  He turned away. “I know what my brother was capable of.”

  She grabbed his arm to stop him from walking away. He glanced down at her hand, then slowly raised his gaze to her face, staring at her as if she were a pesky insect. But when she let go, he stayed put.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t need to.”

  “Yes,” she argued, thinking of her sister—of the good-hearted if misguided young woman whose life had been snuffed out by a bullet. “I do.”

  His renewed silence distressed her. As did his penetrating gaze. Phoebe stared back, willing him to say what was on his mind.

  “Before you leave,” Simon finally said, “I’ll take the keys.” When she stared stupidly at him, at a loss for words, he added, “The ones you used to get inside.” Those bedroom eyes traveled ever so slowly down her flesh—face to throat to breasts to stomach—finally settling on her right hip where the keys made a bulge in her shorts pocket. “I guess I can fetch them myself.”

  He reached out as if he meant to do exactly that

  Unnerved, already violated by his intense gaze and unwilling to take any more from him, Phoebe slapped his hand away, fetched the keys and shoved them into his chest. Hard. His lips twitched as he took them from her, his subtle amusement fueling her temper.

  “Boone made Audra happy,” she hotly informed him. “She loved your brother and for once I approved of her choice in men. He was one of the most decent guys I’ve ever met. He didn’t try to control her. Didn’t manipulate her. Didn’t abuse her. Why would he kill her?”

  A flicker behind those dark eyes told her she’d gotten to him, and yet he spoke without a hint of emotion. “Maybe it was like the authorities said and your sister meant to go back to her husband.”

  “She wouldn’t have.”

  Even as she made the denial, Phoebe knew a moment’s doubt. Like their mother before her, Audra had never been astute in her choice of men—not Until Boone. And Vance—Audra’s biggest mistake—had always been able to exert too much power over her. Unwilling to believe such nonsense, Phoebe shook away the disturbing qualm.

  “More likely her husband did it,” she said.

  “Out of jealousy?”

  “Something like that. Vance Laughlin never lets go of a possession until he’s done with it. He wasn’t done with my sister.”

  The very coldness of Simon’s voice ate its way up her spine when he asked, “Laughlin physically abused her?”

  If Vance had ever hit her sister, Audra had never admitted as much. But then, abused women rarely did. “I know she was afraid of him.”

  Vance Laughlin demanded perfection in everything. How many times had Audra fearfully recounted his displeasure if she bought the wrong wine or wore a dress he disliked?

  “Not the same thing,” Simon said.

  “Abuse has many faces.” Ugly faces that she’d recognized even as a child. “Vance relishes exercising his power at every opportunity...especially when he’s been drinking.”

  Again something flicked deep within Simon’s eyes.

  Pain?

  So he wasn’t completely invulnerable, Phoebe realized, quick to take advantage.

  “What if Boone didn’t do it?” she demanded. “Don’t you want to clear his good name?”

  “What other people think doesn’t matter.”

  Other people...

  “What about you?” she asked. “About what you think? Don’t you want to know the truth?”

  He didn’t have to answer. His eyes did that for him.

  “If I’m right,” she pressed on, “what about the real murderer? Shouldn’t he be stopped? Don’t you want justice?” At this last remark, Simon’s dark expression made Phoebe fear she’d lost him.

  “It’s not up to us to mete out justice—”

  “That’s not what I said. Or meant. I’m talking about digging for the truth, and once we find it, handing it over to the authorities.”

  To someone who would listen with an open mind. Someone who would believe her.

  For a moment, Phoebe thought she had Simon’s attention again. Just as quickly, the glimmer of humanity she’d glimpsed receded...leaving her with the cold, uncaring shell of a person she’d sized him up to be in the first place.

  His next words confirmed it.

  “Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”

  Stubbornly, she held her ground. “Look, if you don’t want to get involved, don’t. But I’m not giving up.” Even figuring she was arguing with a wall, she said, “As long as I’m here, why not let me—”

  “You wasted the drive, Phoebe, so give up.”

  She let out a frustrated sound and shook her head. “I’ll never give up. And I don’t understand.”

  This time he didn’t argue, merely moved in on her so close she caught her breath. Barely enough room for a sheet of paper between them, she stared at his chin, at the small scar, because it should have been safer than meeting those bedroom eyes, when, in fact, she didn’t feel safe at all.

  She felt...what?...surely not attracted to him?

  Rather, she acknowledged a recognition of Simon’s intensity... of his inner strength...and especially of some dark force lurking below the surface that frightened her.

  Just when she couldn’t stand it a moment longer, he reached past her. The door clicked open. She met his gaze and was surprised to see amusement—like when he’d forced her to turn over the keys.

  Tempted to stay put, Phoebe knew it was useless. He’d throw her out bodily if he had to. Still, she wouldn’t turn tail and run, as instinct was urging her.

  She backed off slowly, carefully, placing one foot behind the other until she’d passed through the doorway. There she stopped, gaze still connected with his, willing Simon to change his mind.

  What he did instead was slam the
door in her face.

  SIMON’S AMUSEMENT faded the moment the door swung shut.

  He waited for her to leave, but Phoebe Grant was nothing if not obstinate.

  Imagining her angular face, stubborn chin slightly cocked, straight nose tilted, wide-spaced hazel eyes (the left punctuated by a mole at its outer corner) focused on him—judging him—he tensed. He answered to no one. Assuredly not to some strange woman who wanted to tell him how he should feel about his own brother’s death.

  What did she know about the dark recesses of the human soul?

  Her sister had died, as well. Murdered. That qualified her for something, he guessed.

  He sensed her waiting. For him to relent? To invite her back inside, not only into the house, but into his life?

  The hell he would!

  One minute stretched to two, two to three, and still she made no move to leave. Simon clenched his jaw. Reaching out, he turned the dead bolt, hoping its snap was loud enough for her to hear on the other side.

  Finally, he sensed her withdrawal, heard the whisper of her sneakers against the walkway. Finally, she gave up, albeit with reluctance, he was certain.

  And he was left alone once more, exactly as he’d been inside for most of his life.

  Boone’s life was over...

  His twin’s probable suicide made Simon feel emptier than before.

  Chapter Two

  “So, you a native, or what?” Kevin Saltis asked the buxom blonde who perched on a bar stool across from him, while he made her a piña colada.

  “A native of New Jersey.” The young woman leaned in closer, offering him a view of her cleavage.

  Kevin’s dark eyes—his most tangible legacy from his Cuban grandfather—snapped with interest. “You’re just visiting, then?”

  “Working on my tan.”

  From her post at the nearby hostess’s stand, Phoebe arched her eyebrows. Burn was more like it. The blonde’s skin had the glow of raw meat. Too many tourists tended to barbecue themselves as if needing to prove they’d been to Florida—threat of skin cancer or no.

  “Lookin’ good,” her fair-haired partner murmured, as Phoebe had heard him do dozens of times with dozens of uncomplicated women on dozens of hot, slow-moving days like this.

  Kevin flexed his considerable muscle as he set the young woman’s drink on the bar. Although he was only five foot ten, he was broad-shouldered and so brawny that he gave the impression of a much larger man. His infectious grin heightened his boy-next-door good looks. People took him for thirty, though in reality, Kevin Saltis would soon shake hands with the big four-o. That didn’t stop him from going after young women. His striking out was a rare occurrence, and about the only thing guaranteed to darken his naturally sunny disposition.

  Even now, he was murmuring, “Maybe you’d like someone to show you the nightlife...”

  Irritated at being privy to the flirtation when she had a far more serious issue to discuss with him, Phoebe left the shelter of the overhang and drew closer to the dock.

  Halfway out in the bay, a dolphin arched above the water, undoubtedly in pursuit of a fresh fish lunch. Preening on the end post of the pier, a pelican stretched its wings and sunned itself, odd-shaped beak lifted to the sky, whose clear blue sweep held no trace of yesterday’s storm. Seagulls shrieked as they floated overhead, the scavengers already scouring the area for discarded people food.

  Nearly midday.

  The hot and humid breeze sweeping over her did little to dry the perspiration already dotting her body.

  Florida in August could be murder...

  Murder...Audra...

  Hot tears sprang to the backs of her eyes and Phoebe concentrated on keeping them from falling. She wouldn’t cry in public and humiliate herself, especially not here. What would her customers think?

  The lunchtime crowd was drifting in. Work would occupy her mind. Drawing herself together, she found a smile from somewhere, seated a party of four beneath a ceiling fan, handed out menus and distributed glasses of ice water.

  “Your waitress will be right with you,” she promised, even as three cranky little kids accompanying an even crankier mother arrived.

  Luckily, she was able to seat them inside, where the air-conditioning would cool off their tempers and the window view (hopefully) would keep the kids interested.

  Tourists and locals alike frequented the Blue Crab Bar and Grill, known for its lunchtime special—soft-shell crab sandwiches. She and Kevin kept the menu simple, the food good and portions generous—and were rewarded by a steady, modestly lucrative business.

  The place filled up fast. At some point, another lone young woman came in and greeted the one at the bar. She indicated they wanted a table. Before following Phoebe, the blonde gave Kevin a promising smile and a mouthed “later.”

  During a lull in the action, Phoebe drifted back to the bar, where her partner was filling a drink order.

  Picking up the conversation she’d tried to have with him prior to the blonde’s entrance, she asked, “So what do you think I should do?”

  “About what?”

  “How soon we forget. Simon Calderon.”

  “You think he’s good-looking?”

  Frowning, she tried not to visualize the hollow cheeked face that had haunted her sleep. “He looks exactly like Boone.” Except for a few harder edges, and that scar. “I told you they were twins.”

  “But are you attracted to him?”

  “What?”

  “Is he your type?”

  “Kevin-n-n...”

  “Phe-e-ebs...”

  Heat flaring up her neck, she glanced over her shoulder. Once assured no one was paying them any mind, she turned back to her partner.

  “What’s wrong with you? I’m trying to get some answers about my sister’s murder and you’re trying to set me up with a date.”

  “You could use more than a date.” Setting drinks on a tray, Kevin wiggled his eyebrows at her. “You need some action, down and dirty. Get rid of some of that tension.”

  “My love life is none of your business.”

  Even as he demanded, “What love life?” she thought of dark bedroom eyes. For the moment regretting that she had so readily confided in a man who was her business partner, Phoebe muttered, “You’re exasperating!”

  “But cute, right?”

  “Get serious.”

  “You want serious?” The boyish smile faded, to be replaced by an expression of concern. “Okay. As much as I know you’re going to hate this...I think the cops got it nailed, Pheebs. For all his appearing to be a normal kinda guy, Boone Calderon coulda been a pint short. I think you’re wasting your time.”

  He was right. She didn’t like it. “Thanks a lot.”

  “But, I’m there for you,” he added warmly. “Say the word and I’ll help any way I can.”

  “Thanks,” she said again, this time meaning it. “I’ll let you know if I come up with something.”

  Kevin was her sounding board. Had been since the year before, when she’d inherited her father’s half of the business. He’d quickly become her mentor. And her best buddy. Moving around so much while growing up had precluded a close relationship with anyone but her sisters—really only Audra—so making friends was difficult for her. Thankfully, Kevin hadn’t let her social ineptness stand in his way. Also thankfully, she wasn’t his type.

  She’d choose a good friend over “a man” any day.

  She’d learned well by negative example.

  SIMON LET MOST of the day drift by without accomplishing a thing. He’d meant to get in and out, do what he had to before disappearing back into his swamp, but life didn’t always go as planned.

  He found himself wandering the house, wondering. Trying to make sense of the senseless. Searching for a level playing field where there were only hills and curves.

  Boone’s home. Boone’s possessions: Now all of it belonged to him.

  Paul Hines had arrived at Calderon’s Landing the day after the burial
Simon had refused to attend (denial had long been his strong suit)...had informed him that he was, Boone’s sole beneficiary...had assured him that all would go smoothly through the courts.

  As if he cared about things.

  The lawyer had unsuccessfully hidden his amusement when Simon had said as much. He’d left a package of legal papers and several sets of keys and headed back to his office in Naples.

  And Simon—compelled by a bond that few would understand—had reluctantly left his swamp.

  His first stop had been the cemetery and his twin’s graveside. No matter that he’d arrived in the midst of a tropical storm. He’d sat there all day, heedless of the wind and the rain and the mud...of anything but the past.

  Reminiscing...reconnecting...remembering...

  None of which would bring Boone back.

  None of which gave Simon comfort.

  Boone and Simon...Simon and Boone...identical... interchangeable...

  Like faces...like bodies...like psyches?

  If only the rain could have cleansed him, could have washed that question from his mind.

  If only...

  APPEARING UNANNOUNCED at Calderon Charters late that afternoon probably wasn’t the smartest move Simon had ever made. Hell, it wasn’t even one that he wanted to make. But the business was his now, at least until he decided what to do with it, and with ownership came obligation. The employees needed some sense of continuity, not to mention the assurance of a forthcoming paycheck.

  The business was located directly on the docks at the mouth of Marco River, where the channel spilled into the Gulf of Mexico. The white stucco two-story structure with deep-blue-tiled roof sprawled about a hundred yards from the main pier where boats of every size and description from speedboats to luxury yachts were tied up.

  The moment Simon opened the office door, all heads turned toward him, one by one, as if in slow motion. Eyes went wide. Voices stilled.

  Making Simon wish he were anywhere but here.

  “Madre de Dios!” came a choked female voice from the back of the room.

  Simon zeroed in on the only woman present. Young and lovely, a thick dark plait hanging over one shoulder, she was elegant despite the simple orange sweater and white shorts that revealed long, slender limbs. Her features and coloring reflected a multicultural heritage he guessed to be Cuban-Anglo-African. Her soft brown eyes were awash with tears.