by Nora Roberts
“We’ll talk.” She cut the throttle so the boat would drift. “While you fish.” She managed to smile a bit as she stepped away. “No chum.”
With easy efficiency, Liz secured the butt of a rod into the socket attached to a chair. “For now, you sit and relax,” she told him. “Sometimes a fish is hot enough to take the hook without bait. If you get one, you strap yourself in and work.”
Jonas settled himself in the chair and tipped back his hat. “And you?”
“I go back to the wheel and keep the speed steady so we tire him out without losing him.” She gathered her hair in one hand and tossed it back. “There’re better spots than this, but I’m not wasting my gas when you don’t care whether you catch a fish or not.”
His lips twitched as he leaned back in the chair. “Sensible. I thought you would be.”
“Have to be.”
“Why did you come to Cozumel?” Jonas ignored the rod in front of him and took out a cigarette.
“You’ve been here for a few days,” she countered. “You shouldn’t have to ask.”
“Parts of your own country are beautiful. If you’ve been here ten years, you’d have been a child when you left the States.”
“No, I wasn’t a child.” Something in the way she said it had him watching her again, looking for the secret she held just beyond her eyes. “I came because it seemed like the right thing to do. It was the right thing. When I was a girl, my parents would come here almost every year. They love to dive.”
“You moved here with your parents?”
“No, I came alone.” This time her voice was flat. “You didn’t pay two hundred dollars to talk about me, Mr. Sharpe.”
“It helps to have some background. You said you had a daughter. Where is she?”
“She goes to school in Houston—that’s where my parents live.”
Toss a child, and the responsibility, onto grandparents and live on a tropical island. It might leave a bad taste in his mouth, but it wasn’t something that would surprise him. Jonas took a deep drag as he studied Liz’s profile. It just didn’t fit. “You miss her.”
“Horribly,” Liz murmured. “She’ll be home in a few weeks, and we’ll spend the summer together. September always comes too soon.” Her gaze drifted off as she spoke, almost to herself. “It’s for the best. My parents take wonderful care of her and she’s getting an excellent education—taking piano lessons and ballet. They sent me pictures from a recital, and…” Her eyes filled with tears so quickly that she hadn’t any warning. She shifted into the wind and fought them back, but he’d seen them. He sat smoking silently to give her time to recover.
“Ever get back to the States?”
“No.” Liz swallowed and called herself a fool. It had been the pictures, she told herself, the pictures that had come in yesterday’s mail of her little girl wearing a pink dress.
“Hiding from something?”
She whirled back, tears replaced with fury. Her body was arched like a bow ready to launch. Jonas held up a hand.
“Sorry. I have a habit of poking into secrets.”
She forced herself to relax, to strap back passion as she’d taught herself so long ago. “It’s a good way to lose your fingers, Mr. Sharpe.”
He chuckled. “That’s a possibility. I’ve always considered it worth the risk. They call you Liz, don’t they?”
Her brow lifted under the fringe that blew around her brow. “My friends do.”
“It suits you, except when you try to be aloof. Then it should be Elizabeth.”
She sent him a smoldering look, certain he was trying to annoy her. “No one calls me Elizabeth.”
He merely grinned at her. “Why weren’t you sleeping with Jerry?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Yes, definitely Elizabeth. You’re a beautiful woman in an odd sort of way.” He tossed out the compliment as casually as he tossed the cigarette into the water. “Jerry had a…fondness for beautiful women. I can’t figure out why you weren’t lovers.”
For a moment, only a moment, it occurred to her that no one had called her beautiful in a very long time. She’d needed words like that once. Then she leaned back on the rail, planted her hands and aimed a killing look. She didn’t need them now.
“I didn’t choose to sleep with him. It might be difficult for you to accept, as you share the same face, but I didn’t find Jerry irresistible.”
“No?” As relaxed as she was tensed, Jonas reached into the cooler, offering her a beer. When she shook her head, he popped the top on one for himself. “What did you find him?”
“He was a drifter, and he happened to drift into my life. I gave him a job because he had a quick mind and a strong back. The truth was, I never expected him to last over a month. Men like him don’t.”
Though he hadn’t moved a muscle, Jonas had come to attention. “Men like him?”
“Men who look for the quickest way to easy street. He worked because he liked to eat, but he was always looking for the big strike—one he wouldn’t have to sweat for.”
“So you did know him,” Jonas murmured. “What was he looking for here?”
“I tell you I don’t know! For all I know he was looking for a good time and a little sun.” Frustration poured out of her as she tossed a hand in the air. “I let him have a room because he seemed harmless and I could use the money. I wasn’t intimate with him on any level. The closest he came to talking about what he was up to was bragging about diving for big bucks.”
“Diving? Where?”
Fighting for control, she dragged a hand through her hair. “I wish you’d leave me alone.”
“You’re a realistic woman, aren’t you, Elizabeth?”
Her chin was set when she looked back at him. “Yes.”
“Then you know I won’t. Where was he going to dive?”
“I don’t know. I barely listened to him when he got started on how rich he was going to be.”
“What did he say?” This time Jonas’s voice was quiet, persuading. “Just try to think back and remember what he told you.”
“He said something about making a fortune diving, and I joked about sunken treasure. And he said…” She strained to remember the conversation. It had been late in the evening, and she’d been busy, preoccupied. “I was working at home,” Liz remembered. “I always seem to handle the books better at night. He’d been out, partying I thought, because he was a little unsteady when he came in. He pulled me out of the chair. I remember I started to swear at him but he looked so damn happy, I let it go. Really, I hardly listened because I was picking up all the papers he’d scattered, but he was saying something about the big time and buying champagne to celebrate. I told him he’d better stick to beer on his salary. That’s when he talked about deals coming through and diving for big bucks. Then I made some comment about sunken treasure….”
“And what did he say?”
“Sometimes you make more putting stuff in than taking it out.” With a line between her brows, she remembered how he’d laughed when she’d told him to go sleep it off. “He made a pass neither one of us took seriously, and then…I think he made a phone call. I went back to work.”
“When was this?”
“A week, maybe one week after I took him on.”
“That must have been when he called me.” Jonas looked out to sea. And he hadn’t paid much attention, either, he reminded himself. Jerry had talked about coming home in style. But then he had always been talking about coming home in style. And the call, as usual, had been collect.
“Did you ever see him with anyone? Talking, arguing?”
“I never saw him argue with anyone. He flirted with the women on the beach, made small talk with the clients and got along just fine with everyone he worked with. I assumed he spent most of his free time in San Miguel. I think he cruised a few bars with Luis and some of the others.”
“What bars?”
“You’ll have to ask them, though I’m sure the police alread
y have.” She took a deep breath. It was bringing it all back again, too close. “Mr. Sharpe, why don’t you let the police handle this? You’re running after shadows.”
“He was my brother.” And more, what he couldn’t explain, his twin. Part of himself had been murdered. If he were ever to feel whole again, he had to know why. “Haven’t you wondered why Jerry was murdered?”
“Of course.” She looked down at her hands. They were empty and she felt helpless. “I thought he must’ve gotten into a fight, or maybe he bragged to the wrong person. He had a bad habit of tossing what money he had around.”
“It wasn’t robbery or a mugging, Elizabeth. It was professional. It was business.”
Her heart began a slow, painful thud. “I don’t understand.”
“Jerry was murdered by a pro, and I’m going to find out why.”
Because her throat was suddenly dry, she swallowed. “If you’re right, then that’s all the more reason to leave it to the police.”
He drew out his cigarettes again, but stared ahead to where the sky met the water. “Police don’t want revenge. I do.” In his voice, she heard the calm patience and felt a shiver.
Staring, she shook her head. “Even if you found the person who did it, what could you do?”
He took a long pull from his beer. “As a lawyer, I suppose I’d be obliged to see they had their day in court. As a brother…” He trailed off and drank again. “We’ll have to see.”
“I don’t think you’re a very nice man, Mr. Sharpe.”
“I’m not.” He turned his head until his eyes locked on hers. “And I’m not harmless. Remember, if I make a pass, we’ll both take it seriously.”
She started to speak, then saw his line go taut. “You’ve got a fish, Mr. Sharpe,” she said dryly. “You’d better strap in or he’ll pull you overboard.”
Turning on her heel, she went back to the bridge, leaving Jonas to fend for himself.
CHAPTER 3
It was sundown when Liz parked her bike under the lean-to beside her house. She was still laughing. However much trouble Jonas had caused her, however much he had annoyed her in three brief meetings, she had his two hundred dollars. And he had a thirty-pound marlin—whether he wanted it or not. We deliver, she thought as she jingled her keys.
Oh, it had been worth it, just to see his face when he’d found himself on the other end of the wire from a big, bad-tempered fish. Liz believed he’d have let it go if she hadn’t taken the time for one last smirk. Stubborn, she thought again. Yes, any other time she’d have admired it, and him.
Though she’d been wrong about his not being able to handle a rod, he’d looked so utterly perplexed with the fish lying at his feet on the deck that she’d nearly felt sorry for him. But his luck, or the lack of it, had helped her make an easy exit once they’d docked. With all the people crowding around to get a look at his catch and congratulate him, Jonas hadn’t been able to detain her.
Now she was ready for an early evening, she thought. And a rainy one if the clouds moving in from the east delivered. Liz let herself into the house, propping the door open to bring in the breeze that already tasted of rain. After the fans were whirling, she turned on the radio automatically. Hurricane season might be a few months off, but the quick tropical storms were unpredictable. She’d been through enough of them not to take them lightly.
In the bedroom she prepared to strip for the shower that would wash the day’s sweat and salt from her skin. Because it was twilight, she was already reaching for the light switch when a stray thought stopped her. Hadn’t she left the blinds up that morning? Liz stared at them, tugged snugly over the window-sill. Odd, she was sure she’d left them up, and why wasn’t the cord wrapped around its little hook? She was fanatical about that kind of detail, she supposed because ropes on a boat were always secured.
She hesitated, even after light spilled into the room. Then she shrugged. She must have been more distracted that morning than she’d realized. Jonas Sharpe, she decided, was taking up too much of her time, and too many of her thoughts. A man like him was bound to do so, even under different circumstances. But she’d long since passed the point in her life where a man could dominate it. He only worried her because he was interfering in her time, and her time was a precious commodity. Now that he’d had his way, and his talk, there should be no more visits. She remembered, uncomfortably, the way he’d smiled at her. It would be best, she decided, if he went back to where he’d come from and she got on with her own routine.
To satisfy herself, Liz walked over to the first shade and secured the cord. From the other room, the radio announced an evening shower before music kicked in. Humming along with it, she decided to toss together a chicken salad before she logged the day’s accounts.
As she straightened, the breath was knocked out of her by an arm closing tightly around her neck. The dying sun caught a flash of silver. Before she could react, she felt the quick prick of a knife blade at her throat.
“Where is it?”
The voice that hissed in her ear was Spanish. In reflex, she brought her hands to the arm around her neck. As her nails dug in, she felt hard flesh and a thin metal band. She gasped for air, but stopped struggling when the knife poked threateningly at her throat.
“What do you want?” In terror her mind skimmed forward. She had less than fifty dollars cash and no jewelry of value except a single strand of pearls left by her grandmother. “My purse is in on the table. You can take it.”
The vicious yank on her hair had her gasping in pain. “Where did he put it?”
“Who? I don’t know what you want.”
“Sharpe. Deal’s off, lady. If you want to live, you tell me where he put the money.”
“I don’t know.” The knife point pricked the vulnerable skin at her throat. She felt something warm trickle down her skin. Hysteria bubbled up behind it. “I never saw any money. You can look—there’s nothing here.”
“I’ve already looked.” He tightened his hold until her vision grayed from lack of air. “Sharpe died fast. You won’t be so lucky. Tell me where it is and nothing happens.”
He was going to kill her. The thought ran in her head. She was going to die for something she knew nothing about. Money…he wanted money and she only had fifty dollars. Faith. As she felt herself on the verge of unconsciousness, she thought of her daughter. Who would take care of her? Liz bit down on her lip until the pain cleared her mind. She couldn’t die.
“Please…” She let herself go limp in his arms. “I can’t tell you anything. I can’t breathe.”
His hold loosened just slightly. Liz slumped against him and when he shifted, she brought her elbow back with all her strength. She didn’t bother to turn around but ran blindly. A rug slid under her feet, but she stumbled ahead, too terrified to look back. She was already calling for help when she hit the front door.
Her closest neighbor was a hundred yards away. She vaulted the little fence that separated the yards and sprinted toward the house. She stumbled up the steps, sobbing. Even as the door opened, she heard the sound of a car squealing tires on the rough gravel road behind her.
“He tried to kill me,” she managed, then fainted.
* * *
“There is no further information I can give you, Mr. Sharpe.” Moralas sat in his neat office facing the waterfront. The file on his desk wasn’t as thick as he would have liked. Nothing in his investigation had turned up a reason for Jerry Sharpe’s murder. The man who sat across from him stared straight ahead. Moralas had a photo of the victim in the file, and a mirror image a few feet away. “I wonder, Mr. Sharpe, if your brother’s death was a result of something that happened before his coming to Cozumel.”
“Jerry wasn’t running when he came here.”
Moralas tidied his papers. “Still, we have asked for the cooperation of the New Orleans authorities. That was your brother’s last known address.”
“He never had an address,” Jonas murmured. Or a conventional job, a st
eady woman. Jerry had been a comet, always refusing to burn itself out. “I’ve told you what Miss Palmer said. Jerry was cooking up a deal, and he was cooking it up in Cozumel.”
“Yes, having to do with diving.” Always patient, Moralas drew out a thin cigar. “Though we’ve already spoken with Miss Palmer, I appreciate your bringing me the information.”
“But you don’t know what the hell to do with it.”
Moralas flicked on his lighter, smiling at Jonas over the flame. “You’re blunt. I’ll be blunt as well. If there was a trail to follow to your brother’s murder, it’s cold. Every day it grows colder. There were no fingerprints, no murder weapon, no witnesses.” He picked up the file, gesturing with it. “That doesn’t mean I intend to toss this in a drawer and forget about it. If there is a murderer on my island, I intend to find him. At the moment, I believe the murderer is miles away, perhaps in your own country. Procedure now is to backtrack on your brother’s activities until we find something. To be frank, Mr. Sharpe, you’re not doing yourself or me any good by being here.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“That is, of course, your privilege—unless you interfere with police procedure.” At the sound of the buzzer on his desk, Moralas tipped his ash and picked up the phone.
“Moralas.” There was a pause. Jonas saw the captain’s thick, dark brows draw together. “Yes, put her on. Miss Palmer, this is Captain Moralas.”
Jonas stopped in the act of lighting a cigarette and waited. Liz Palmer was the key, he thought again. He had only to find what lock she fit.
“When? Are you injured? No, please stay where you are, I’ll come to you.” Moralas was rising as he hung up the phone. “Miss Palmer has been attacked.”
Jonas was at the door first. “I’m coming with you.”
His muscles ached with tension as the police car raced out of town toward the shore. He asked no questions. In his mind, Jonas could see Liz as she’d been on the bridge hours before—tanned, slim, a bit defiant. He remembered the self-satisfied smirk she’d given him when he’d found himself in a tug-of-war with a thirty-pound fish. And how neatly she’d skipped out on him the moment they’d docked.