Kiss and Tell

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Leila smiled at him. “I think Nancy has a crush on you.”

  “Nancy Sullivan.” Marsh carefully hid his surprise. Why was Leila telling him this?

  “I was thinking.” Leila glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. “How about if I invite Nancy over to dinner one of these nights and—”

  Marsh hit the brakes hard and the jeep squealed to a stop. Good God, she was trying to set him up with her friend. “You can’t be serious.”

  “She’s nice, Marsh. I think if you get to know her, you’ll like her—”

  “I’m not interested in Nancy Sullivan.”

  “How do you know, when you just told me that you don’t know her very well?” Leila countered.

  “If I wanted to ask Nancy Sullivan out, I would have done so already myself,” Marsh said through tightly clenched teeth. Lord, this was an amazingly ludicrous conversation. Less than an hour ago, he’d come damn close to kissing this woman. They’d both been well aware of the undercurrents in the air. Dammit, Leila knew he was going to kiss her, and she hadn’t backed away. If Ben hadn’t interrupted them, he would have kissed her. So why was she trying to pair him off with one of her friends now?

  “Will you lighten up?” Leila said. “God, you’d think I was trying to arrange for your execution. I’m trying to help, and you fly into one of your awful snits.”

  “You’re trying to help? What, pray tell, are you trying to help me do, exactly? Get married? Settle down? Have a houseful of kids? Or is it more basic than that? Perhaps you’re only trying to help me get laid.”

  Silence. There was silence in the jeep as Leila stared out the windshield and Marsh cursed his bloody temper.

  “I’m sorry.” He raked his fingers through his hair.

  “No, you’re right. I was butting in. I’m sorry.”

  She glanced over at him, and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. For a moment, he had trouble catching his breath, as if someone had knocked all of the air out of him.

  “Oh, Leila, I didn’t mean to say that—”

  “Forget it.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “We fight all the time.”

  “Not like that. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She got out of the jeep. “I’m going to walk over to Frankie’s.”

  Marsh pulled himself up so that he was standing on the running board, looking at her over the canvas top of the jeep. “Leila, wait, please. I’m sorry—”

  “I said, forget it.”

  His temper flared. “Dammit, will you let me properly apologize?”

  “Why? Will that make you feel better?”

  She spun back to face him, and he saw that anger had replaced the tears in her eyes. Anger was better than hurt, but not by much. His hair was in his eyes again, he realized, and he wearily pushed it back, off his face.

  “No,” he said quietly.

  To his surprise, Leila didn’t turn and walk away. Instead, she stepped closer to the jeep. “Things are a real mess, aren’t they, Marsh? In both of our lives.”

  “It’s true that my house burning down has been rather…inconvenient, but it’s just a matter of time before…”

  “What? Before you rebuild?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “That’s not what I hear,” she said. “Not with the problems you’re having with your insurance company. Not with the bank loan you can’t seem to qualify for.”

  Marsh ran his hands across his face. “Ah, the drawback of small-town life. Secrets aren’t secret for long, are they? As you’re fond of pointing out every chance you get.”

  “I want to help you get your financial situation on track.” Leila took another step toward him. She looked lovely in the early afternoon light. The sun made her golden hair shine. And her face…God, he’d dreamed about her beautiful smile, her eyes dancing with pleasure and laughter. He’d fantasized about holding her in his arms. “Let me look at your books.”

  “It’s an improvement over helping me get my love life on track, but not by too much.”

  “Don’t go all macho and stupid on me, Devlin.” Leila narrowed her eyes. “You’ve never been able to balance even your checkbook, and you know it. This isn’t a matter of manly pride.”

  “Believe me, you stomped the last tattered pieces of my manly pride firmly into the ground with that bit about Nancy Sullivan,” Marsh said ruefully. “I’d much rather we’d just drop this whole conversation. Let me drive you to Frankie’s and we’ll pretend it never happened.”

  Leila was silent, staring down at the dusty pavement, out at the overgrown junglelike bushes that lined the road, up at the crystal blue of the sky. Finally she looked back at Marsh. “I can’t just let it go, Marshall. You’d think I would be able to, after all the years we’ve fought and argued and just in general pretended to dislike each other. But I’m not sure if you changed or I changed or what, but I…I do care about you, and I need you to let me help you.”

  Marsh stood quietly and let her words digest. She cared about him. It was a step in the right direction. Not a big step, but a step.

  He nodded. “All right. You win.”

  “Good.”

  “Just the financial stuff,” Marsh added. “Not the other.”

  Leila climbed into the jeep and fastened her seat belt. “In other words, if you want to get laid, you’ll do it without my help.”

  She was intentionally trying to embarrass him. But it wouldn’t work.

  “Without your help as my social director,” Marsh corrected her, giving her a sidelong glance. “Anytime you’re interested in a different…position, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

  Leila’s eyes widened as she realized the double meaning of his words.

  “Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like, Leila—you know, you and me?”

  His words brought the flush of heat to Leila’s cheeks as she tried to look away, as she tried to keep from getting caught in the depths of his eyes.

  A supernova. That’s what it would be like. An explosion of incredible, unending, unstoppable heat. Arms and legs and bodies and mouths entangled in an almost painful need to be one. He would devour her, even as she consumed him….

  “No,” she lied, trying desperately to keep her voice from sounding so breathless. “No, actually I haven’t.”

  All of the warmth left his eyes, leaving only a trace of disappointment that was quickly hidden beneath his usual mocking glint.

  “Right,” he said briskly. “That’s the trouble with you accountants. No imagination. Everything’s facts and figures.”

  Leila kept her mouth shut as Marsh started the jeep with a roar of the engine.

  They drove to Frankie’s office in silence.

  FIVE

  PRESTON SEAHOLM, HAYDEN Young, and Liam Halliday had each attended Simon’s party dressed in a ninja costume. All three also owned a beeper. Hayden had one because along with his lifeguard job, he moonlighted as a paramedic and volunteer fireman. Liam was the sheriff, and as everybody knew, there were times—like when Duke Torrelson had too much tequila and jumped on top of the jukebox in the Rustler’s Hideout and challenged everyone in the place to a leg-wrestling match—when the mere deputies simply couldn’t cut it. And Preston had a beeper because, according to Frankie, he was pretentious.

  Leila stared at the list of six names she’d given Frankie to check out.

  From those six names, she had narrowed her suspects down to three. Three men, three beepers, three ninjas.

  Except, Marsh and Simon—and Frankie, too—had spotted a fourth ninja at the New Year’s Eve party.

  And that was probably the mysterious Robert Earle.

  Frankie had checked into Alan Lanigan and Bruce Kimble, both longtime residents of Sunrise Key, the other two names on the list. She had found that Alan hadn’t even attended the party and that Bruce had come dressed as Godzilla.

  But Robert Earle had been a visitor to the key. He’d been staying at Seaholm’s resort and had checked out early in the afternoon
of January first. Frankie hadn’t managed to persuade the hotel clerk to give her Earle’s home address, so she hadn’t been able to track the man any further. As a result, Leila didn’t know a thing about him, whether he owned a beeper, whether he wore a ninja costume to the party. Or whether he was her mystery man.

  Leila had asked Simon about Robert Earle, but he wasn’t any help. Apparently, he’d met Earle on the golf course, the two men had hit it off, and Simon had invited him to the party. He thought Earle lived up in Georgia. Atlanta, maybe.

  Frankie had promised to get Earle’s home address from the resort one way or another. Leila didn’t dare ask how.

  But for now she had three names, three suspects, three places to start.

  Frankie had told her that Pres Seaholm, the first suspected ninja, could usually be found down at his various construction sites, or at the marina where he docked his yacht. Occasionally he could be found at his office, which was on Ocean Avenue, in the same building as Marsh’s office.

  It was still funny to think that Marsh was a doctor, even though he’d been practicing for years. Leila had never gone to see him as a patient. It was hard to imagine him giving her any kind of examination, even something as simple as looking at a sore throat. Of course, she’d been lucky. She’d never gotten sick or been hurt while here on vacation.

  She could just picture him, calm and aloof and in control while she nearly wept aloud from intense pain.

  Or maybe not. Over the past few days, she’d seen a new side of Marsh. He wasn’t as calm and self-confident as she’d always thought. He doubted his ability to make a marriage work. He was afraid of being hurt the way his mother had been. He was vulnerable, and capable of feeling pain. He was neither icy hearted nor emotionless….

  What was she doing? She was supposed to be figuring out which of her suspects to approach first, not thinking about Marsh Devlin.

  Hayden Young. She should be thinking about Hayden Young instead. The new lifeguard lived not far from the town beach, where he spent most of the hours from sunrise to sunset. She should be thinking about the best way to introduce herself to Hayden Young, instead of daydreaming about Marsh Devlin.

  Except it was hard not to think about Marsh. Have you ever wondered what it would be like, Leila…you know, you and me? Had he known she was lying when she told him no? What if she had said yes? Yes, she had wondered, and lately it seemed as if she was wondering all the time. Would he have kissed her if she’d admitted the truth? And what about at the Sullivans’? If Ben hadn’t come out of the barn, would he have kissed her then?

  This was really stupid. She had to stop thinking about Marsh. Leila frowned down at her list of names.

  Liam Halliday.

  Liam was the town sheriff. He was a little bit harder to pinpoint than the other two men, except on his rare nights off. Then, according to Frankie, you could find him, without fail, at the Rustler’s Hideout, drinking beer, shooting pool, and dancing the two-step to the country songs on the jukebox.

  And tonight was one of Liam’s nights off. There was no telling when he’d have another night free.

  So it was Liam she’d go to see first. It was Liam she’d try to kiss.

  Too bad it couldn’t have been Marsh.

  Leila was sitting drowsily in the sun out on the deck when a voice made her open her eyes.

  “I heard rumors you were back in town.”

  It was Preston Seaholm, one of her ninja suspects, and he was leaning against the deck railing, smoking a cigarette. He was wearing a cranberry-colored polo shirt and a pair of expensive-looking black shorts. His reddish-blond hair was growing long in the back, and he had a heavy five-o’clock shadow, as if he hadn’t shaved in days. It made him look faintly dangerous.

  “I heard rumors you were back in town, too. It’s been a long time. How are you?”

  He smiled very slightly and took the last drag on his cigarette, stubbing it out in an ashtray that sat on the railing. “Unmarried.” He exhaled the smoke. There might have been a flash of pain in his hazel eyes, but if there was, it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “No doubt you heard those rumors, too.”

  “I’ve heard a few,” Leila admitted. Was Pres Seaholm her ninja? She looked into his eyes, searching for some kind of sign, some kind of recognition.

  “Is Simon around?” Pres asked. “I’m in the market for some Stickley furniture, and rumor has it—there go those rumors again—he’s got a lead on an entire houseful.”

  “He’s in his office. I’ll walk you back there.” She sat up and started to pull herself to her feet. This was the perfect opportunity. But for what? How on earth was she going to get him to kiss her?

  “I know the way,” he said. “Don’t get up.”

  “That’s okay.” She slipped her sundress over her bathing suit. “Actually, I want to ask you—”

  Standing there, face-to-face—or nose to nose, as it were—Leila knew she didn’t have to kiss Pres Seaholm to convince herself that he wasn’t her ninja. Because her ninja wasn’t a smoker. Her ninja hadn’t smelled—or tasted—of cigarettes. Pres did. Everything about him reeked of tobacco smoke.

  “I wanted to ask you,” Leila said, filled with relief that she didn’t have to make a fool of herself, “about that building that you’re putting up over by the airport.” She led him into the house. “Nobody I’ve talked to seems to know. Is it going to be a restaurant or some kind of store…?”

  Midafternoon, Frankie called.

  “Robert Earle.” She skipped the hellos.

  “Did you find out something?” Leila asked.

  “He’s a skeeve. I, um, located his home address and gave him a call. Mrs. Earle answered the phone.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh’s right,” Frankie agreed. “And Mrs. Earle didn’t have a clue that her husband had spent a week on Sunrise Key. She was under the impression that he’d been attending some kind of corporate convention in Orlando. I didn’t try to correct her poor deluded view of reality. I told her I must be mistaken and left it at that. You want me to pursue it, try to get his work number?”

  Leila lay back on her bed. “No.” She stared up at the ceiling. “Let me check out Liam Halliday and Hayden Young first.”

  “Have we already disqualified Pres Seaholm?” Frankie asked.

  “He smokes like a chimney. You can’t get within six feet of him without smelling tar and nicotine. The man’s a walking ashtray. He’s not my ninja.”

  “So, one down,” Frankie said. “That’s good news, provided that your ninja’s not being a billionaire is good news.”

  Leila laughed. “Right.”

  “I’ll see you tonight,” Frankie said. “For Operation Halliday.”

  “I’m going out with Frankie tonight,” Leila announced as dinner was drawing to a close. “We’re going over to the Rustler’s Hideout.”

  Both Marsh and Simon eyed her speculatively. In both pairs of eyes she could read only one thing: Liam Halliday. She never should have told them that Frankie had narrowed down the list of possible ninjas to Liam, Pres, and Hayden.

  “Gonna do some line dancing, huh?” Simon said, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Put on your cowboy boots and do some boot scootin’?” He looked at Marsh and grinned. “You know who I hear is a really good dancer? Liam Halliday. Can you believe it? For such a tall guy, he can really shake a leg.”

  “Knock it off, Si,” Leila said tightly.

  “We can’t let Leila go alone,” Simon told Marsh.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Marsh mused. “The Rustler’s Hideout is no place for a lady to go by herself.”

  “I’m not going alone. I’m going with Frankie. You two are not invited.”

  “Frankie’s barely five feet tall,” Simon remarked.

  “She won’t be extremely useful if Duke has one of his flashbacks and starts swinging his pool cue around like a wild man,” Marsh admitted.

  “I hear Duke’s meeting his biker buddies at the Hideout tonight,” Si
mon said. “They’re a pretty scary gang.”

  “Everyone knows that Duke’s a pussycat,” Leila protested. “His so-called biker friends ride Schwinns. Frankie and I will be fine—”

  “Still, maybe we should go, too,” Simon said. “I’m not doing anything tonight. You’re not busy either, are you, Dev?”

  “No.” Leila stood up, carrying her plate into the kitchen. “Absolutely not.”

  They wanted to tag along. They wanted to watch her approach Liam Halliday, to see if he was her ninja. They wanted to witness her making an ass of herself.

  “My schedule’s clear, too,” Marsh said cheerfully, as both he and Simon followed her into the kitchen.

  “Nope,” Leila insisted. “You’re not coming. No way.”

  Simon smiled. “I’ll drive.”

  “I think you should ask him to dance,” Frankie told Leila.

  “No,” Simon said. “Fall to the floor and act like you need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. That’ll do it. Liam’ll be over here in a flash.”

  “Marsh is here,” Frankie drawled scornfully. “You don’t really think the sheriff’s going to resuscitate Leila when the town doctor is standing two feet away from her, do you?”

  “Good point,” Marsh said.

  “Maybe if Marsh went into the men’s room first…” Simon started.

  “No resuscitation,” Leila said firmly. “No, thank you.”

  “Then just walk up to him and plant one on him,” Simon suggested. “It’ll blow his mind, but it’ll get the job done.”

  “I still think you should ask him to dance,” Frankie said. “Then you can just let nature take its course. Two minutes into the dance, he’ll be the one trying to figure out how to get you to kiss him.”

  The Rustler’s Hideout was fairly busy for a weeknight. Although the bandstand was empty, the jukebox was playing, and seven or eight couples moved around the little dance floor.

  The air was smoky and the lights were dim, and other than a promotional picture of Clint Black that had recently been tacked up on the rough-hewn walls, Leila didn’t think the bar had changed one bit since she was last there, four years before. It was not that the tiny roadhouse wasn’t clean, because it was. The place had an obviously well-cared-for appearance. Yet it held a sense of timelessness. When she opened the door and walked inside, it could’ve been 1985. Or 1975. Or even 1955. Only the songs playing on the jukebox were different.