Dangerous Embrace

by Nora Roberts

  She smiled at him. “That’s what I’m here for. The depth here is thirty feet,” she told the group in general. “Remember to make your adjustments for pressure and gravity as you descend. Please keep the group in sight at all times.” With innate fluidity, she sat on the deck and rolled into the water. With Luis on deck, and Liz treading a few feet away, they waited until each student made his dive. With a final adjustment to her mask, Liz went under.

  She’d always loved it. The sensation of weightlessness, the fantasy of being unimpeded, invulnerable. From near the surface, the sea floor was a spread of white. She loitered there a moment, enjoying the cathedral like view. Then, with an easy kick, she moved down with her students.

  The newlyweds were holding hands and having the time of their lives. Liz reminded herself to keep them in sight. The policeman assigned to her was plodding along like a sleepy sea turtle. He’d keep her in sight. Most of the others remained in a tight group, fascinated but cautious. The thin American gave her a wide-eyed look that was a combination of pleasure and nerves and stuck close by her side. To help him relax, Liz touched his shoulder and pointed up. In an easy motion, she turned on her back so that she faced the surface. Sunlight streaked thinly through the water. The hull of the dive boat was plainly visible. He nodded and followed her down.

  Fish streamed by, some in waves, some on their own. Though the sand was white, the water clear, there was a montage of color. Brain coral rose up in sturdy mounds, the color of saffron. Sea fans, as delicate as lace, waved pink and purple in the current. She signaled to her companion and watched a school of coral sweepers, shivering with metallic tints, turn as a unit and skim through staghorn coral.

  It was a world she understood as well as, perhaps better, than the one on the surface. Here, in the silence, Liz often found the peace of mind that eluded her from day to day. The scientific names of the fish and formations they passed were no strangers to her. Once she’d studied them diligently, with dreams of solving mysteries and bringing the beauty of the world of the sea to others. That had been another life. Now she coached tourists and gave them, for hourly rates, something memorable to take home after a vacation. It was enough.

  Amused, she watched an angelfish busy itself by swallowing the bubbles rising toward the surface. To entertain her students, she poked at a small damselfish. The pugnacious male clung to his territory and nipped at her. To the right, she saw sand kick up and cloud the water. Signaling for caution, Liz pointed out the platelike ray that skimmed away, annoyed by the intrusion.

  The new husband showed off a bit, turning slow somersaults for his wife. As divers gained confidence, they spread out a little farther. Only her bodyguard and the nervous American stayed within an arm span at all times. Throughout the thirty-minute dive, Liz circled the group, watching individual divers. By the time the lesson was over, she was satisfied that her customers had gotten their money’s worth. This was verified when they surfaced.

  “Great!” A British businessman on his first trip to Mexico clambered back onto the deck. His face was reddened by the sun but he didn’t seem to mind. “When can we go down again?”

  With a laugh, Liz helped other passengers on board. “You have to balance your down time with your surface time. But we’ll go down again.”

  “What was that feathery-looking stuff?” someone else asked. “It grows like a bush.”

  “It’s a gorgonian, from the Gorgons of mythology.” She slipped off her tanks and flexed her muscles. “If you remember, the Gorgons had snakes for hair. The whip gorgonian has a resilient skeletal structure and undulates like a snake with the current.”

  More questions were tossed out, more answers supplied. Liz noticed the American who’d stayed with her, sitting by himself, smiling a little. Liz moved around gear then dropped down beside him.

  “You did very well.”

  “Yeah?” He looked a little dazed as he shrugged his shoulders. “I liked it, but I gotta admit, I felt better knowing you were right there. You sure know what you’re doing.”

  “I’ve been at it a long time.”

  He sat back, unzipping his wet suit to his waist. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but I wondered about you. You’re American, aren’t you?”

  It had been asked before. Liz combed her fingers through her wet hair. “That’s right.”

  “From?”

  “Houston.”

  “No kidding.” His eyes lit up. “Hell, I went to school in Texas. Texas A and M.”

  “Really?” The little tug she felt rarely came and went. “So did I, briefly.”

  “Small world,” he said, pleased with himself. “I like Texas. Got a few friends in Houston. I don’t suppose you know the Dresscots?”

  “No.”

  “Well, Houston isn’t exactly small-town U.S.A.” He stretched out long, skinny legs that were shades paler than his arms but starting to tan. “So you went to Texas A and M.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What’d you study?”

  She smiled and looked out to sea. “Marine biology.”

  “Guess that fits.”

  “And you?”

  “Accounting.” He flashed his grin again. “Pretty dry stuff. That’s why I always take a long breather after tax time.”

  “Well, you chose a great place to take it. Ready to go down again?”

  He took a long breath as if to steady himself. “Yeah. Hey, listen, how about a drink after we get back in?”

  He was attractive in a mild sort of way, pleasant enough. She gave him an apologetic smile as she rose. “It sounds nice, but I’m tied up.”

  “I’ll be around for a couple of weeks. Some other time?”

  “Maybe. Let’s check your gear.”

  By the time the dive boat chugged into shore, the afternoon was waning. Her customers, most of them pleased with themselves, wandered off to change for dinner or spread out on the beach. Only a few loitered near the boat, including her bodyguard and the accountant from America. It occurred to Liz that she might have been a bit brisk with him.

  “I hope you enjoyed yourself, Mr….”

  “Trydent. But it’s Scott, and I did. I might just try it again.”

  Liz smiled at him as she helped Luis and another of her employees unload the boat. “That’s what we’re here for.”

  “You, ah, ever give private lessons?”

  Liz caught the look. Perhaps she hadn’t been brisk enough. “On occasion.”

  “Then maybe we could—”

  “Hey, there, missy.”

  Liz shaded her eyes. “Mr. Ambuckle.”

  He stood on the little walkway, his legs bulging out of the short wet suit. What hair he had was sleeked wetly back. Beside him, his wife stood wearily in a bathing suit designed to slim down wide hips. “Just got back in!” he shouted. “Had a full day of it.”

  He seemed enormously pleased with himself. His wife looked at Liz and rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should take you out as crew, Mr. Ambuckle.”

  He laughed, slapping his side. “Guess I’d rather dive than anything.” He glanced at his wife and patted her shoulder. “Almost anything. Gotta trade in these tanks, honey, and get me some fresh ones.”

  “Going out again?”

  “Tonight. Can’t talk the missus into it.”

  “I’m crawling into bed with a good book,” she told Liz. “The only water I want to see is in the tub.”

  With a laugh, Liz jumped down to the walkway. “At the moment, I feel the same way. Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Ambuckle, this is Scott Trydent. He just took his first dive.”

  “Well now.” Expansive, Ambuckle slapped him on the back. “How’d you like it?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Nothing like it, is there? You want try it at night, boy. Whole different ball game at night.”

  “I’m sure, but—”

  “Gotta trade in these tanks.” After slapping Scott’s back again, Ambuckle hefted his tanks and waddled off toward the shop.

  “Obs
essed,” Mrs. Ambuckle said, casting her eyes to the sky. “Don’t let him get started on you, Mr. Trydent. You’ll never get any peace.”

  “No, I won’t. Nice meeting you, Mrs. Ambuckle.” Obviously bemused, Scott watched her wander back toward the hotel. “Quite a pair.”

  “That they are.” Liz lifted her own tanks. She stored them separately from her rental equipment. “Goodbye, Mr. Trydent.”

  “Scott,” he said again. “About that drink—”

  “Thanks anyway,” Liz said pleasantly and left him standing on the walkway. “Everything in?” she asked Luis as she stepped into the shop.

  “Checking it off now. One of the regulators is acting up.”

  “Set it aside for Jose to look at.” As a matter of habit, she moved into the back to fill her tanks before storage. “All the boats are in, Luis. We shouldn’t have too much more business now. You and the rest can go on as soon as everything’s checked in. I’ll close up.”

  “I don’t mind staying.”

  “You closed up last night,” she reminded him. “What do you want?” She tossed a grin over her shoulder. “Overtime? Go on home, Luis. You can’t tell me you don’t have a date.”

  He ran a fingertip over his mustache. “As a matter of fact…”

  “A hot date?” Liz lifted a brow as air hissed into her tank.

  “Is there any other kind?”

  Chuckling, Liz straightened. She noticed Ambuckle trudging across the sand with his fresh tanks. Her other employees talked among themselves as the last of the gear was stored. “Well, go make yourself beautiful then. The only thing I have a date with is the account books.”

  “You work too much,” Luis mumbled.

  Surprised, Liz turned back to him. “Since when?”

  “Since always. It gets worse every time you send Faith back to school. Better off if she was here.”

  That her voice cooled only slightly was a mark of her affection for Luis. “No, she’s happy in Houston with my parents. If I thought she wasn’t, she wouldn’t be there.”

  “She’s happy, sure. What about you?”

  Her brows drew together as she picked her keys from a drawer. “Do I look unhappy?”

  “No.” Tentatively, he touched her shoulder. He’d known Liz for years, and understood there were boundaries she wouldn’t let anyone cross. “But you don’t look happy either. How come you don’t give one of these rich American tourists a spin? That one on the boat—his eyes popped out every time he looked at you.”

  The exaggeration made her laugh, so she patted his cheek. “So you think a rich American tourist is the road to happiness?”

  “Maybe a handsome Mexican.”

  “I’ll think about it—after the summer season. Go home,” she ordered.

  “I’m going.” Luis pulled a T-shirt over his chest. “You look out for that Jonas Sharpe,” he added. “He’s got a different kind of look in his eyes.”

  Liz waved him off. “Hasta luego.”

  When the shop was empty, Liz stood, jingling her keys and looking out onto the beach. People traveled in couples, she noted, from the comfortably married duo stretched out on lounge chairs, to the young man and woman curled together on a beach towel. Was it an easy feeling, she wondered, to be half of a set? Or did you automatically lose part of yourself when you joined with another?

  She’d always thought of her parents as separate people, yet when she thought of one, the other came quickly to mind. Would it be a comfort to know you could reach out your hand and someone else’s would curl around it?

  She held out her own and remembered how hard, how strong, Jonas’s had been. No, he wouldn’t make a relationship a comfortable affair. Being joined with him would be demanding, even frightening. A woman would have to be strong enough to keep herself intact, and soft enough to allow herself to merge. A relationship with a man like Jonas would be a risk that would never ease.

  For a moment, she found herself dreaming of it, dreaming of what it had been like to be held close and kissed as though nothing and no one else existed. To be kissed like that always, to be held like that whenever the need moved you—it might be worth taking chances for.

  Stupid, she thought quickly, shaking herself out of it. Jonas wasn’t looking for a partner, and she wasn’t looking for a dream. Circumstances had tossed them together temporarily. Both of them had to deal with their own realities. But she felt a sense of regret and a stirring of wishes.

  Because the feeling remained, just beyond her grasp, Liz concentrated hard on the little details that needed attending to before she could close up. The paperwork and the contents of the cash box were transferred to a canvas portfolio. She’d have to swing out of her way to make a night deposit, but she no longer felt safe taking the cash or the checks home. She spent an extra few minutes meticulously filling out a deposit slip.

  It wasn’t until she’d picked up her keys again that she remembered her tanks. Tucking the portfolio under the counter, she turned to deal with her own gear.

  It was perhaps her only luxury. She’d spent more on her personal equipment than she had on all the contents of her closet and dresser. To Liz, the wet suit was more exciting than any French silks. All her gear was kept separate from the shop’s inventory. Unlocking the door to the closet, Liz hung up her wet suit, stored her mask, weight belt, regulator. Her knife was sheathed and set on a shelf. After setting her tanks side by side, she shut the door and prepared to lock it again. After she’d taken two steps away she looked down at the keys again. Without knowing precisely why, she moved each one over the ring and identified it.

  The shop door, the shop window, her bike, the lock for the chain, the cash box, the front and back doors of her house, her storage room. Eight keys for eight locks. But there was one more on her ring, a small silver key that meant nothing to her at all.

  Puzzled, she counted off the keys again, and again found one extra. Why should there be a key on her ring that didn’t belong to her? Closing her fingers over it, she tried to think if anyone had given her the key to hold. No, it didn’t make sense. Brows drawn together, she studied the key again. Too small for a car or door key, she decided. It looked like the key to a locker, or a box or… Ridiculous, she decided on a long breath. It wasn’t her key but it was on her ring. Why?

  Because someone put it there, she realized, and opened her hand again. Her keys were often tossed in the drawer at the shop for easy access for Luis or one of the other men. They needed to open the cash box. And Jerry had often worked in the shop alone.

  With a feeling of dread, Liz slipped the keys into her pocket. Jonas’s words echoed in her head. “You’re involved, whether you want to be or not.”

  Liz closed the shop early.

  * * *

  Jonas stepped into the dim bar to the scent of garlic and the wail of a squeaky jukebox. In Spanish, someone sang of endless love. He stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust, then skimmed his gaze over the narrow booths. As agreed, Erika sat all the way in the back, in the corner.

  “You’re late.” She waved an unlit cigarette idly as he joined her.

  “I passed it the first time. This place isn’t exactly on the tourist route.”

  She closed her lips over the filter as Jonas lit her cigarette. “I wanted privacy.”

  Jonas glanced around. There were two men at the bar, each deep in separate bottles. Another couple squeezed themselves together on one side of a booth. The rest of the bar was deserted. “You’ve got it.”

  “But I don’t have a drink.”

  Jonas slid out from the booth and bought two drinks at the bar. He set tequila and lime in front of Erika and settled for club soda. “You said you had something for me.”

  Erica twined a string of colored beads around her finger. “You said you would pay fifty for a name.”

  In silence, Jonas took out his wallet. He set fifty on the table, but laid his hand over it. “You have the name.”

  Erika smiled and sipped at her drink. “Maybe. M
aybe you want it bad enough to pay another fifty.”

  Jonas studied her coolly. This was the type his brother had always been attracted to. The kind of woman whose hard edge was just a bit obvious. He could give her another fifty, Jonas mused, but he didn’t care to be taken for a sucker. Without a word, he picked up the bill and tucked it into his pocket. He was halfway out of the booth when Erika grabbed his arm.

  “Okay, don’t get mad. Fifty.” She sent him an easy smile as he settled back again. Erika had been around too long to let an opportunity slip away. “A girl has to make a living, sí? The name is Pablo Manchez—he’s the one with the face.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “I don’t know. You got the name.”

  With a nod, Jonas took the bill out and passed it to her. Erika folded it neatly into her purse. “I’ll tell you something else, because Jerry was a sweet guy.” Her gaze skimmed the bar again as she leaned closer to Jonas. “This Manchez, he’s bad. People got nervous when I asked about him. I heard he was mixed up in a couple of murders in Acapulco last year. He’s paid, you know, to…” She made a gun out of her hand and pushed down her thumb. “When I hear that, I stop asking questions.”

  “What about the other one, the American?”

  “Nothing. Nobody knows him. But if he hangs out with Manchez, he’s not a Boy Scout.” Erika tipped back her drink. “Jerry got himself in some bad business.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry.” She touched the bracelet on her wrist. “He gave me this. We had some good times.”

  The air in the bar was stifling him. Jonas rose and hesitated only a moment before he took out another bill and set it next to her drink. “Thanks.”

  Erika folded the bill as carefully as the first. “De nada.”

  * * *

  She’d wanted him to be home. When Liz found the house empty, she made a fist over the keys in her hand and swore in frustration. She couldn’t sit still; her nerves had been building all during the drive home. Outside, Moralas’s evening shift was taking over.

  For how long? she wondered. How long would the police sit patiently outside her house and follow her through her daily routine? In her bedroom, Liz closed the canvas bag of papers and cash in her desk. She regretted not having a lock for it, as well. Sooner or later, she thought, Moralas would back off on the protection. Then where would she be? Liz looked down at the key again. She’d be alone, she told herself bluntly. She had to do something.