by Meryl Sawyer
And back again.
The soft sand made her a little unsteady on her bad leg as she stepped out of the surf. She did her best to sear Matt with a bad girl’s drop-dead-you-creep look.
“I see the doctor took your cast off.”
Matt’s voice had a hint of a truce in it. She tamped down the urge to make a sarcastic remark.
“Yes. I have to swim three times a day and go to a physical therapist, but I don’t have to wear the cast any longer.” She glanced around for her beach towel, then remembered dropping it onto a chair on the terrace, some distance away. The way Matt kept looking at her made her feel positively naked. The Beast would have run for cover, but she refused to allow him to intimidate her.
“Is that orange thing you’re wearing scraps from a life jacket, or is it supposed to be a swimsuit?”
She bit down on her lip, determined not to take the bait. Obviously, she’d been mistaken about hearing a truce in his voice. He was as confrontational as usual.
“Must be one of Jo Mama’s specials,” he said with a grin some women might consider sexy. He tilted his head toward the man on the Wave Runner. “You’re turning this place into a pornographer’s paradise. That guy can’t stop taking pictures of you.”
The suit was more revealing than anything she had ever owned—including her underwear. Once she would never have dared to wear it and call attention to herself, but urged on by Bubbles and the ridiculously cheap price, she had bought the bikini.
“Check out Jiggs,” he said lightly.
Ahead, she saw something maroon curled up on her beach towel. Couldn’t be Jiggs. Usually, the little guy was the color of sludge.
“What can I say? The woman at Groomingdale’s thought a henna rinse would make Jiggs distinctive.”
She cocked her head toward Matt and saw the humor sparking his amber eyes. Maybe he had been teasing her about her bikini. She had so little knowledge of men and the way their minds worked that she could easily have mistaken a joke for criticism.
“Hold it.” Matt’s arm shot out in front of her, forcing her to halt, “Here comes Bingo.”
The orange-colored alley cat sauntered up to the chair where Jiggs was snoozing and jumped up beside the little dog. Startled, Jiggs opened his eyes, saw it was Bingo, and scooted to the corner of the towel, making room for the cat. Bingo dropped down beside him, then began picking his teeth with his hind paw.
“Look at Bingo’s tummy,” said Matt. “It’s the size of a football. God-only-knows-what he’s digesting.”
She couldn’t help smiling even though Bingo had probably bagged one of the magnificent shore birds. Matt’s tone was lighthearted, engaging. She ventured another look into his eyes.
“Matt, you’re about as charming as a pit bull.”
His adorable grin turned his lips up at the corners of his mouth as if he’d just received the ultimate compliment. She quickly looked away, telling herself not to be taken in by a heart-stopping smile. Or a powerful, inescapably masculine body. Remember, a good offense is a strong defense.
“You know, Jensen, I’ve been thinking—”
“Uh-oh. Naked women should not be allowed to think.”
She looked down at Jiggs and Bingo, deciding against yanking the towel out from under them.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s going on behind those gorgeous baby blues.”
It was a back-handed compliment, and she refused to allow it to soften her attitude.
“Jensen, I think you’ve got a problem. I—”
“No, honey”—he touched her arm, a light gesture that seemed surprisingly intimate—“people no longer have problems. They have ‘issues.’ So? What’s the issue here?”
He was good, really good, at verbal sparring. She knew she was out of her element, but she had a point to make.
“Did you see Indecent Proposal or Honeymoon in Las Vegas?” she asked, boldly looking him in the eye.
“Sure.” His reply was emphatic, but she could see she’d caught him off guard.
“The men persistently pursued those women. What happened? They get the girl.”
He nodded slowly, his dark eyes narrowing—evidently he was trying to figure out where she was going with this.
“Now, take Fatal Attraction and Play Misty for Me. Women chased the men. Did they get the guys? No, sir. Did they get respect? Are you kidding? They got killed.”
Matt took a half step back, saying, “I’m sure there’s a point to this.”
She indulged in a second to blister him with another glaring look. “What we have here is a double standard. Men pursue women and they’re credited with being persistent—a good trait. Women chase men and society condemns them for being obsessed.”
An astonished silence followed her heated comment. Matt’s eyes never left hers, and she could almost hear his brain revving into gear, assimilating what she had said, then formulating a response.
He smiled, an arrogant half-lift of the corner of his mouth. “It’s absurd to expect me to have an intellectual discussion with a nude woman.”
“Jensen, get a life. Can’t you be serious for once?”
Two beats of silence followed, the air filled by the staccato beat of her heart and the soulful call of a kingfisher circling overhead.
“I’m serious, Shelly, dead serious. Society probably does give men more credit than it should for persistence, but this is a matter of degree. You crossed over the line when you threatened my sister. You said you’d kill her if she didn’t leave me alone.”
She had tried to jam that disturbing incident to the far corner of her mind. She couldn’t justify what Shelly had done. Yet, she had no choice except to pretend to be this terrible woman.
“You’re right. What I did was unforgivable.” The reply seemed forced even to her own ears. “I’m truly sorry.”
He shrugged, then looked out over the water toward Key West. “Obsession is complicated and lasts a long time. There was a case, right here in Key West, in the 1930s.”
The way he paused made her wonder. What now?
“A girl named … Elena died and was buried in the cemetery we rode through last night. A man by the name of Von Cosel was so obsessed with her that he retrieved her body and took it to his house. He mummified her, then made love to her every night. It took seven years before their grisly affair was uncovered.”
She swallowed hard to fight down the bile rising in her throat. “Don’t worry about me digging you up, Jensen. I won’t bother you ever again, I promise.”
Why in hell had he told Shelly that story? It was true, but gross. Even in Key West, a mecca for misfits, a man like Von Cosel was certifiable. He opened his mouth to tell Shelly something more upbeat. Jiggs could be a TV star. But the telephone rang and Shelly rushed off to answer it.
Watching her tight buns move beneath the bright orange bikini bottom, Matt cursed under his breath. She was so damn sexy. His unwilling response to her intensified every time he was around her.
He gazed down at Jiggs and Bingo—an orange and maroon eyesore if there ever was one—and tried to get his mind off Shelly. It was impossible. She appealed to him on several different levels.
Sure, she was a heart-stopper, but she was bright too. If she hadn’t threatened Emily, he might have excused her obsessive behavior. That was how convincing her argument had been.
She was itching to take him on, which amused him. He was in a mean mood these days, and she’d borne the brunt of his temper. When he acted like this, he scared the shit out of most people. Not Shelly.
“I won’t bother you ever again, I promise.” Her words came back to him. I promise.
Kicking himself for not remembering sooner, the psychiatrist’s warning replayed in his mind. “An unsolicited promise is a reliable indicator of a troubled person, demonstrating obsessive behavior.”
Shelly had often promised to leave him alone if—and there was always an if attached to the promise. If he would see her one more time. If he would read the note she�
�d sent. If he would take this one last phone call.
The unsolicited promises had merely been attempts to manipulate him into contact. She would promise and promise, never intending to keep her word.
“Shelly just made another promise,” he muttered under his breath as he walked to the far edge of the terrace and gazed out at Key West across the short expanse of water.
But this promise was different. There was no if attached. She had merely promised to leave him alone.
Friggin’ weird.
It didn’t fit the classic profile of an obsessed person. Okay, maybe she was playing a mind game with him. She promised not to bother him, then deliberately flaunted her sexy bod every chance she got. To attract him, luring him ever closer.
It was working. Even now … Aw, hell. He needed to go into town and find a woman who could take his mind off Shelly.
He turned and walked down the brick path to where Trevor kept Half Moon Bay’s launch. The boat was bobbing in the water, its blue and white striped bimini shading the interior from the afternoon heat. He was untying the mooring line, when he heard Shelly call.
“Matt! Matt! Wait!”
Just what he expected. She had tried to lure him by promising not to bother him, but she’d secretly hoped seeing her in that bikini would make her irresistible. It damn near had.
Okay, Jensen, haul ass. He put one foot in the boat and glanced over his shoulder. Naturally, Shelly couldn’t let him leave. She was running toward him through the sea oats growing along the high tide line.
Don’t run! he silently called. You just got your cast off.
She hit the soft sand, and her injured leg buckled. Arms out flung, she pitched forward, landing facedown.
“Shelly,” he yelled, jumping out of the boat. He raced up the dock and made it to the sand just as she was sitting up. “Are you okay?”
She gazed up at him, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. Aw, hell, she’d hurt herself. Again.
He dropped to his knees beside her and put his hand on her leg. The skin beneath his fingers was smooth and surprisingly soft. “I don’t think you’ve broken it again.”
She wasn’t making a sound, but tears were parading down her cheeks. He tried to lift her into his arms, intending to carry her to the terrace, but she pushed him away.
“I’m fine. My leg’s a little weak. It gave out, but I’ll be all right.” She swiped at her tear-dampened cheek with the back of her hand. “Matt, I need you. Something terrible has happened.”
Uh-oh. Here it comes. He braced himself for one of her tricks. She gazed at him, her beautiful eyes still luminous with tears. Her lower lip quivered as she tried to speak. One look was enough to break any man’s heart. His, for sure.
“The telephone call. It was about Trevor.”
Chapter 17
Her words hit him like a sucker punch straight to the gut. “What happened to Trevor? Is he all right?”
“He’s fine.” Blinking away tears, she whispered, “It’s his mother. She died.”
Son of a bitch. This was going to be a blow to Trevor. A big time blow. Long ago Trevor had accepted that his family wanted nothing to do with him, but he had always hoped that one day his mother would change her mind.
Shelly rose to her feet, swaying slightly, favoring the leg that had been in the cast. He circled her with one arm, his hand on the small of her back for support, and guided her back to the terrace.
She stopped and gazed up at him, her face just inches from his. “We have to do something.”
He gently eased her down onto a chaise. “Let’s get some ice for your leg.”
“I’m fine, honest. It’s Trevor who needs help.”
Matt ran his fingers through his hair, wondering how he was going to break the news to his friend. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll go back to the funeral with him.”
Tears welled up in Shelly’s eyes again. “It’s too late. The funeral was held more than a week ago.”
“What?” Matt sank down on the chaise near Shelly’s feet, facing her.
“Trevor’s mother had been diagnosed with terminal cancer several months ago—yet no one contacted Trevor.”
Knowing his mother had chosen not to call would cut out Trevor’s heart.
“Some older man phoned. He told me to tell Trevor. He said the family hadn’t wanted Trevor at the funeral. That’s why he waited until now to let Trevor know about her death.” Tears spiked her long lashes, and she shook her head. “How could they be so cruel?”
He’d never understood Trevor’s family. He shook his head, unable to offer any explanation.
“He spoke so fondly of his childhood. I know he loved his mother very much.” Shelly’s voice was low and charged with emotion. “It’ll upset him terribly to have missed the opportunity to say good-bye.”
“That man on the phone must have been Trevor’s old man. He’s a real bastard, trust me.”
“Why? Trevor is wonderful—the perfect son.”
Matt wasn’t sure Trevor would want him to discuss this. Since the night Matt had been called to the hospital and met Graham Adams for the first—and last—time, Trevor had never again mentioned his ordeal.
“Trevor’s father expected him to go into the Wall Street brokerage firm the family established at the turn of the century. Trevor was on track. Top grades at the best schools. There were other children, but Trevor was the shining star—”
“Until he announced he was gay.”
“Right His father was totally disgusted by the news,” he hedged, telling half the story.
Shelly’s gaze shifted to one side for a moment, then turned back to him. “There’s got to be more to it than that.”
Okay, Shelly was as perceptive as she was insightful. She recognized a half-truth when she heard one. She stared wordlessly at him, her blue eyes gently imploring him to tell her everything.
“I met Trevor at Yale and we became best friends. I never suspected he was gay. We were rooming together our junior year when Trevor became … different. Moody. Secretive. One day Trevor came to me and told me that he was gay.”
“I hope you were supportive,” she said as if she had her doubts.
“I was blown away, because we’d been so close and I never suspected. But it didn’t change the way I felt about Trevor.” He stared out at the horizon, where the cloudless blue sky blended with the sea. “I couldn’t love him more if he were my own brother.”
“Have you told him that?”
“I don’t have to say it. Trevor knows.”
“Does he?”
A suffocating sensation tightened his throat. “It’s not the kind of thing men talk about.”
“That’s the problem with guys. They don’t express themselves, so they never know what to say when it really counts.”
She had a point, and he couldn’t deny it He had no idea how in hell he was going to break the news of his mother’s death to Trevor.
“Go on,” she prodded. “Tell me the rest.”
“What makes you think there’s more?” A movement near the corner of his eye caught his attention. “Look at that guy, will you? He’s still shooting pictures. He’s scaring the kingfisher away from her nest.”
“The chicks will die if they’re in the sun too long,” Shelly said. “They need her to shade them.”
Matt stood up and strode to the edge of the terrace, where the dichondra began. He raised his arm and gave the dumb-ass on the Wave Runner the Italian salute. “Here’s a picture for you.”
The man gunned the engine and shot off across the water, a rooster tail of water streaming out from the rear. Matt returned to the chaise and sat down a little closer this time.
“You were telling me about Trevor.”
He began slowly, measuring his words. “Trevor had become involved with a man. He moved in with him, but pretended to be rooming with me to fool his family. For almost a year I rarely saw Trevor except when he came by for his mail.”
“How did you feel abo
ut it?”
She would ask that question. Holding raw emotion in check, he took a breath, then continued. “I hated the bastard. He’d stolen my best friend. But I was busy, so, life went on. In retrospect, I should have known something was wrong.”
“What?” she asked when he hesitated.
“I got a call in the middle of the night. Trevor was in the hospital.”
Shelly turned her head just slightly, and her eyelashes cast forlorn shadows across her cheek. He wondered if she’d already guessed.
“He’d been beaten up pretty badly.”
“His lover did it, didn’t he?” she asked, her eyes wide with concern.
“Battering is more common among gays than most people realize.”
“Why would Trevor stay in an abusive relationship?”
“He told me that he’d known for years he was gay and tried to deny it. Then he finally met someone he couldn’t live without. Trouble was, the guy was jealous and had a hair-trigger temper.” Even now Matt could feel his stomach clench the way it had back then. “I should have realized and done something. I’d noticed bruises. Once Trevor had a black eye.”
“I hope Trevor pressed charges.”
“Trevor’s parents arrived at the hospital the next morning. It wasn’t exactly the ideal way to find out your son prefers men. His father went ballistic.”
“Didn’t his mother—”
“She cried the entire time. They had to give her a sedative.” Matt lifted his shoulders high, exaggerating a shrug. “Trevor agreed not to press charges and create a scandal. The next week Trevor’s father disowned him, and his mother never spoke to him again.”
“Just like that?” she asked, and he nodded. “How unbelievably heartless.”
“It hit Trevor big-time. He was already down for the count, then his family deserted him.”
“The creep got away with it.” Her reproachful eyes bored into him.
He held up his hand, flexed his fingers, ignoring his skinned knuckles. “Not exactly. I paid him a little visit—just to teach him what it felt like to be a punching bag.”