by Meryl Sawyer
“He lives here?” Kyle asked, spotting a man coming toward them from the house.
“Plotzy moved in the day Thunder Island opened.”
“Kyle, my boy,” the older man said as he stopped beside them. “Thelma Mae told me all about you.”
How lucky could he get?
Kyle extended his hand and Plotzy took it in both his. What little hair the man had left, he wore in a Friar Tuck fringe that was just a little darker than his brown eyes. He was only slightly overweight but he was short and the extra pounds made him seem lumpy.
“I’m Plotanius Smith. Plotzy to my friends.” He chuckled as if he’d just told the funniest joke. “Right-o. It’s time for my evening dip.” He pointed his big toe and tapped the sand. “I have to be in the water when the sun sets or the curse will strike me dead the second the sun disappears.”
Kyle wasn’t touching that one.
Plotzy pranced off toward the water. Kyle had seen some pretty amazing outfits. After all, this was Key West—nothing was too weird. But he couldn’t recall seeing anyone wear faded black Speedo swimming trunks and leopard-print suspenders. No shirt.
“He’s gay,” Lisa whispered.
Who would have guessed?
“And Plotzy’s really weird.”
He hadn’t noticed. The guy was proof positive evolution can go in reverse.
“Tell me about your work,” Lisa said, breathlessly.
She was coming on to him, and he should have liked it, but he’d been in a mean mood lately. Get a life, he silently cursed himself. Don’t let Jennifer Whitmore ruin things.
“I’m an instructor at the Navy base.”
“Fascinating.”
He had the feeling that Lisa was going to be just a little too easy. Man, oh, man, he should be thanking the gods that he’d gotten lucky. But he couldn’t. He liked a woman who was more of a challenge.
“Hel-lo!”
He looked up to see Chuck had returned from the bar on the back porch. A tall woman with jet black hair was with him. She wore a modest one piece swimming suit in a flattering shade of blue that showcased a bombshell figure.
Yessir, he was going to be very happy at Thunder Island.
“I’m Raven,” she said.
“No last name, just Raven,” Lisa supplied in a tone that was a shade too flip. She took a glass of wine from her brother, then added, “Raven’s a fan dancer at Luna Sí!”
The strip joint. This was his lucky day.
“I’m Kyle Parker,” he told Raven. “I just moved in.”
Raven’s eyes were as dark as her hair and a bit too intense. He wondered if she and Lisa had some female rivalry thing going.
“Thelma Mae told me about you, then reminded me of rule seven.” Raven headed toward the water. “I’m joining Plotzy. I’ve got to stretch my muscles so I can dance tonight.”
Chuck set down his wine on the arm of the Adirondack chair that was almost on the same level as the sand. He hurried after Raven. Out of the corner of his eye, Kyle caught Lisa’s frown.
“Dancing? I wouldn’t call what Raven does with that peacock feather fan—dancing.”
“Why split hairs? I’m willing to call it dancing.” He leaned back, closed his eyes, and imagined Raven wearing nothing but peacock feathers.
Lisa made a low, snorting sound.
“What’s rule seven?” he asked. “Thelma Mae gave me house rules, but I don’t remember much except you have to clean up after yourself.”
Lisa was still looking at the beach where Raven and Chuck were standing in the water talking with Plotzy. The sun was dropping quickly now, gilding the tranquil sea with golden light. In another few minutes it would be dark.
Lisa scooted her chair closer to his. “Rule seven. No bed hopping. Of course, there are ways around the rules.”
He’d stake his life on it.
Kyle leaned back to enjoy the sunset. He couldn’t remember actually taking time to watch Mother Nature’s impressive performance, one that drew travelers to Key West. Sure, he’d attended the sundown festivities at Mallory Dock where the tourists all gathered supposedly to watch the sunset. Over the years it had become more of a street show with odd acts like fire eaters and snake charmers. The sunset took a backseat to the weirdos.
Something wet slapped his cheek. “What the hell?”
Sadie was licking his face and wagging her tail as if she’d just found a long-lost friend. He gave the dog a quick pat on the head, which only encouraged her. She tried to climb into the low-slung chair, her tongue a lethal weapon.
“Quit kissing me,” he told the long-eared hound.
“I guess you’ve met Jennifer,” Lisa said.
“Don’t tell me she lives here.”
“Yes. She’s on the second floor next door to you.”
Just his luck.
Lisa leaned forward and whispered as if imparting top secret information, “It’s a mystery why Thelma Mae let Jennifer Whitmore in ahead of others on the waiting list.”
Chapter 4
Jennifer dropped to her knees and gazed into Sadie’s soulful eyes. “Sadie, you’ve got to get a grip. I don’t care how hot you think Kyle Parker is, you cannot follow him everywhere, and drool over him like Lisa and Raven. It’ll go to his head, which is big enough already.”
She sat down on the wood floor of her room and petted Sadie’s long, silky ears. Unbelievable. Kyle had moved into Thunder Island—in the room next door, of all places.
She looked out the French door opening off her room onto the balcony that wrapped around the second floor of the building. If he walked out the matching set of doors, he could come into her room. Or he could take the hallway route and enter her suite that way. The thought made goose bumps rise on her upper arms.
“I don’t know why I’m worried. He didn’t pay any attention to me at dinner.” Of course, she’d taken the precaution of sitting at the opposite end of the large communal table where the guests dined.
Sadie cocked her head to one side sympathetically.
“Come on, girl. Time to go outside and do your business. We’ve got to get up really early tomorrow. I have to put in time at the firing range before class begins.”
She slowly rose, aware of her aching shoulder. Guns packed a wallop. Some were powerful enough to knock her over. She certainly hoped her shoulder would be better by the morning. It was going to take a lot of practice to have a prayer of a chance of passing the field test.
The corridor was empty, with just a single wall sconce giving off enough light for them to find their way down the hall, then down the back stairs. Outside, the night air was balmy and filled with the fragrant scent of the tropics. A lover’s moon cast its light on the sea, making it sparkle as if a million silver coins had been scattered across the water.
“I wish Chad were here,” she whispered to herself, walking toward the water while Sadie trotted into the wild sea grass bordering the beach. “It’s such a romantic night.”
The sand oozed up between her bare toes, reminding her of the last time she’d seen Chad. They’d been walking barefoot along the beach in Miami and discussing their plans for the future. She hadn’t heard from him in weeks because he was on an undercover assignment somewhere in South America.
Hearing a noise, she spun around and nearly smashed her nose against Kyle’s chest. His big hands came down on her shoulders to brace her. She jerked away, suddenly breathless.
“Are you always this jumpy?” he drawled.
“I’m not used to people sneaking up on me.”
“Sneaking? I was out here first.” He pointed toward the cluster of palms near the far end of the beach. “Over there. I started walking toward you, but you didn’t even check the shadows. A terrorist would eat you for lunch.”
Boy, oh, boy, she’d probably end up killing him.
“Sadie saw me coming and ran right up to me. She’s not exactly light on her feet. Didn’t you hear her?”
“My mind was on other things.” She
was sworn to secrecy, but Kyle was a pro. He would understand why Chad wanted to keep their engagement confidential. “I was thinking about my wedding.”
That got him. For just a moment, his eyes narrowed, becoming shards of green ice. He reached for her left hand and held it up to the moonlight.
“Nice ring.”
She jerked her hand away. “My fiancé is with the DEA. My life could be in danger if they knew I was engaged to him. It’s safer for me not to have a ring.”
He crossed his powerful arms in front of his chest, asking, “Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Chad Roberts.”
“Spike? No sh—Unbelievable.”
“You know Chad?”
“Sure. We’ve met a couple of times.”
Something in his tone told her Kyle did not like Chad. Macho rivalry. Kyle was probably jealous of Chad, who had a reputation as the toughest DEA agent around.
“Chad doesn’t like to be called Spike. That’s what they called him when he played football. He doesn’t care for nicknames, and neither do I. It’s Jennifer, not Jenny, remember?”
He reached down and stroked Sadie’s head. The dog went into ecstasy, wagging her tail so hard her whole body wiggled. Disgusting.
“I came over to tell you the firing range opens at five every morning … Jenny.” He turned and walked back toward the house.
Naturally, Sadie trotted right after him as if Jennifer hadn’t raised her since she was a puppy, then trained her for SAR. The little traitor. “Sadie, come!”
The dog didn’t even slow down.
“Sa—” she started to yell, then remembered it was after ten. One of Thelma Mae’s rules was no noise after nine.
She was forced to run after them. Catching them at the back door, Jennifer grabbed Sadie’s collar.
“You might want to invest in a leash,” Kyle said.
She chose to ignore the jibe. After all, he was a man. He thought he was just sooo funny.
“Sadie’s a great dog, but she’s not much of a watch dog. She ran right up to me.”
She’s crazy about you like all the rest of the females at Thunder Island, Jennifer wanted to say, but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Sadie is trained to find things. She’s not a guard dog and she’s not an attack dog.”
“No? She almost licked me to death.”
“Very funny.”
Half bent over to keep her hand on Sadie’s collar, Jennifer hauled the dog up the stairs to her suite. The whole way Kyle walked behind her. No doubt, he was laughing his head off at the sight of her rear in the air.
Let him laugh. Over the years it had taken all her willpower, but she had managed to keep the series of painful events in the back of her mind. Now that Kyle was around to remind her, Jennifer felt more like crying than laughing.
Kyle was all kinds of pissed—mostly at himself. Why should he care if Jennifer married Spike? She was nothing to him. Nothing.
He went into his room, turned on the light, and flopped across the bed, something burning in his gut the way it had all night. At dinner he’d flirted with the other women at the table, but he’d really wanted to talk to Jennifer. She’d sat as far away as possible, her cute little nose in the air, ignoring him. And making him see red.
Later, on the beach, he’d been half tempted to kiss her senseless. Then she decked him with the news. How could she marry a bum like Spike Roberts?
“Mind your own damn business,” he said out loud.
He didn’t have much experience with women. Sure, he’d had sex—gotten lucky a lot more often than most men—but he hadn’t had a relationship. Life as a member of the Seal 6 forced you to live underground most of the time.
It was not the family hour.
Yet two women had greatly impacted his life.
One had distracted him from his mission in Libya, nearly getting him killed. Thanks to her, his leg was ruined. The other woman—Jenny—had been his first love.
God help him.
The memories were returning with startling clarity. He wasn’t certain if he could stop them even if he tried. Young love, first love. No one forgot.
He’d been just fourteen when Jenny’s mother had moved in with his father, bringing a skinny, pain-in-the-butt daughter with her. Jenny had tagged along everywhere he went, forcing him to ditch her all the time.
But he’d liked her mother. He’d never known his own mother. She’d hated life in the military and had taken off right after he was born. “Dad never got over it,” he whispered under his breath.
Kyle had been blown away to discover his father had asked Mavis to live with him, but not one bit surprised to learn he wasn’t going to marry Jenny’s mother. His father had learned his lesson with Kyle’s mother. For a while, their relationship seemed to be normal, and Kyle enjoyed having great food, clean clothes, and someone to help him with his homework.
A year passed and Jenny filled out. He might not have noticed, but his best friend actually asked the little snot out on a date, and Jenny went. He couldn’t help himself. He’d stayed up until she came home, then he interrupted them as they were saying good night.
“No way would I have let anyone else be the first to kiss Jenny.”
He’d gotten rid of the guy. And kissed Jenny. She had not been the first girl he’d kissed—not by a long shot—but she had been the first girl he’d cared about.
Treasure wasn’t a word he used often, yet it fit. Through the years, he’d treasured Jenny’s memory, the rush of first love transforming her into something she wasn’t. The perfect woman.
She was sexy as hell. Even stooped over, leading the obstinate dog to her room, he’d wanted her. Knowing she was on the other side of the wall just a few feet away, probably in bed—possibly naked—was already bothering him.
“Aw, hell,” he mumbled to himself, getting up. A cold shower would help; he stripped off his shirt. Then he spotted his cell phone on the desk next to Thelma Mae’s house rules.
He picked up the flip phone, an idea already in his head. His gut instinct told him Spike Roberts was a goon, but he could check it out. He had a buddy in Miami who’d left the SEALs before he had and had opened a firm specializing in corporate security. He’d been bugging Kyle to come work for him.
Kyle kept putting Sam off because he intended to open his own firm. In the new millennium, security would be high tech. Satellite surveillance systems, smart guns, home DNA test kits. He knew how to use the new technology better than almost anyone else, a fact even the military acknowledged by paying him well to work on base as an independent contractor.
He checked his Palm Pilot for Sam Halford’s number. It appeared on the small computer screen and Kyle punched the numbers into the cell phone. Luck was with him and Sam was at home.
“Kyle, my man,” he said. “Decide to take me up on my offer?”
“No. I called because I need a little information.”
Sam huffed a belabored sigh. “Okay, shoot.”
Kyle walked to the opposite side of the room. The French doors nearest Jennifer’s room were closed, but voices traveled. “Do you know Spike Roberts? He works out of the Miami DEA office.”
“Sure. Everyone knows Spike. He’s the type who makes certain he’s remembered.”
“That’s my impression, too, but I haven’t seen him in a couple of years. Do you know if he’s engaged?”
Sam chuckled. “Again? He’s been engaged a couple of times. It gets the tough ones into the sack. Know what I mean?”
Kyle knew exactly what he meant. Jennifer wasn’t the type of woman interested in a one-night stand—or even a short-term relationship. She’d always been a little naïve, a little too trusting.
“Who’s Spike engaged to this time?”
“You don’t know her,” Kyle responded, feeling protective of Jennifer.
“Try me. I know a lot of people.”
No one could argue that fact. Sam probably spent his life gathering information on people just in case he neede
d it.
“Jennifer Whitmore.”
A whistle that was distinctly male nearly pierced his eardrum. “She’s some piece, huh?”
Kyle resisted the urge to make a cutting remark. Jennifer Whitmore was about as far from “a piece” as a woman could get.
“She saved Spike’s chops,” Sam went on, not missing a beat. “He’d set up a major cocaine bust at the baggage terminal. They were using a pair of German shepherds to sniff for drugs. They checked every bag and came up with zilch. People were getting antsy about missing connecting flights. The airline officials were screaming bloody murder. Then along came Jennifer with the bloodhound.”
“What was she doing there?”
“One of the shepherd’s handlers called her. Anyway, that bloodhound of hers has some nose. It went right for a fancy set of Gucci luggage and howled. Wouldn’t you know it? The luggage was locked and the woman said her husband had the key. Supposedly, he was on the flight to New York ahead of her.”
“How convenient.”
“Right. The woman knew what buttons to push. She claims she has a job interview that afternoon in New York. If she misses it and loses the job, she’s suing the airline, the DEA, the whole world. She even drags in civil rights, since she’s a Latina.”
“Spike must have been sweating.”
“Yeah. The German shepherds had been very reliable, and they hadn’t found a trace of drugs. What do you think Jennifer said?”
Knowing Jennifer, he was afraid to guess.
“She told him, ‘My dog is recognized as an expert witness in every state in the country. If Sadie says there’s cocaine in the luggage, then you’d better arrest this woman.’”
“What happened?”
“Spike confiscated the luggage, and arrested the woman. Turned out, the suitcases were loaded with cocaine, but they’d sprayed the linings with chloroform. That puts most dog’s noses out of whack.” Sam chuckled. “It was just the tip of the iceberg. The arrest led to several other shipments on later flights.”
“Are bloodhounds expert witnesses in court?”
“Sure. You didn’t know that? They’re the only dogs that are.”
Sadie with the sad eyes and long ears “telling it to a judge.” Kyle chuckled to himself, thanked Sam, and hung up.