Читать книгу: «Hurricane Bay»

“Help me, Dane.”

He could remember her words so clearly, and now, with the lowering sun bringing the onset of evening, he found himself hearing their echo over and over again.

There were things he should be doing. But he had searched the beachfront over and over again, and he had found exactly what he had expected: nothing.

His first response upon examining the photo shoved under the door had been to search, regroup, search again, then think it all out and search for a third time.

No, his first response had been shock. Then sorrow. Deep, gut-wrenching sorrow.

Then had come the knowledge that he was being framed, and that no matter how hard he searched he wouldn’t find fingerprints or proof of any kind that anyone but he had been on his private beach—with Sheila.

Who had hated Sheila viciously enough to kill her? Who was cunning, cruel and psychotic—and held such a deep and maniacal sense of vengeance against him?

HEATHER GRAHAM
HURRICANE BAY

This book is dedicated with the deepest gratitude to

many people.

First and foremost, Choly Zequeira. You are a saint.

Sonia Fraser, Kettia Gaspard and Fay C. Watson.

Thanks for so much.

The incredible folks at St. Philip’s Episcopal

Church, Reverends Eric Kahl and Jennie Lou Reid,

David Karcher, Joyce and Glenn Downing,

Vida Welborne, Ron Theobald, Sylviane Sacasa,

George and Myrtice Hektner, Patrice Fike, Judy King,

Julie McCready, Ellen Sessions, Lee Turner, the Right

Reverend and Holly Richards, Manny and Laverne Diaz,

John Dickason and Kris Charlton.

For the Southeast group—especially Doris McManus,

Audrey Fetscher and Rocco.

Sincere thanks also to Dr. Antonio Ucar, Max Sanchez

and Omar Garcia.

And with the greatest respect and appreciation to three

special Metro-Dade policemen—Sergeant Greenberg

and Officers Mallon and Szolis of the Kendall division.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Web loved the Florida Keys.

In fact, his old nickname, Web, had been born there. So few people knew that name. It was special and unique, to a time as well as a place, just like the islands themselves.

Like pearls cast against the ocean, the Keys meandered down from Miami in a southwest string of dazzling and opalescent beauty. The water lay on both sides of the many islands, shimmering in shades of aqua, blue, green, ever varying with the different depths. There were two ways to leave the mainland behind, Card Sound Bridge and US1, and once those routes were touched, the magic began. There was nothing in the world like sunrise on the Keys, the sun arcing into the sky in shades of crimson ecstasy, the heavens flaring with sudden light, golds as brilliant as the reds, pastels streaking from the bright colors with a soft beauty that seemed to caress the soul. Sunsets were even more heavenly, when the fiery globe of day began to fall in slow majesty, creating a new realm of color, magenta stretching fiery fingers out to the horizon, fading to threads of yellow-tinged pink and mauve, until silver and gray began to seep in and finally the orb of the sun disappeared with a last gasp of steaming gold and darkness fell.

There were few other places where darkness could be so complete.

Not, of course, on the beaten path. Not where the clubs stayed open, and the hotels and motels offered streaming lights for their clientele, and not where the laid-back Tiki bars still sent out soft beacons of welcoming, come-hither brightness. But away from civilization, where nature still prevailed, the darkness could be as complete as a stygian hole, as fearsome as a hell crawling with tiny demons, ready to eat away flesh and go deep enough to consume a human soul.

Ah, darkness. It could offer so much. Sweet secrets and sins, a place in which to hide…

And so it was at night, in the darkness, that Web waited, reflecting on the mystery, beauty and romance in the solitude of night and nature. And the task at hand.

There was an element of danger, of course.

A small element…but enough to give a little edge to the thrill.

There were those who thought of Key West as the main draw. But Web found the upper keys far more welcoming and natural. Close to the heady civilization of Miami, far enough away to offer the reefs, the sunrises and sunsets…

Not to mention shadow and darkness. An aura of mystery in which to meet her tonight. A surprise, of course, since she would have no idea of all he’d planned, the night, the breeze, the salty-sweet scent of the air, the beach…

Eternity.

She was so beautiful. Even more so when caught in shimmering rays of light…and shadow.

Web had planned tonight’s event meticulously. Everything before her arrival had been set, and everything to follow was arranged to a T.

Almost.

The day had fallen into place perfectly, but now, as Web waited, the timing began to go awry. All the magic would be lost if she did not arrive soon. And this had to be the night, the night when so much would be solved, when reckoning would be met.

Web’s watch ticked away the time. Minutes passed, then more minutes. Frustration, nervousness, set in.

Leave it to Sheila to be late.

It gave him time to reflect….

Every move she had ever made touched Web’s heart and soul.

She had to come. And soon. Or all the detailed plans, the ebony mystique of the night, the brilliant ecstasy of dawn, would be lost.

And then…a sound.

Her car on the road.

Web switched on the portable floodlight.

The bright beam blinded her. It was like the wrath of God. Her car veering, she braked to an abrupt halt. Web calmly walked to the driver’s side.

She shielded her eyes with a hand.

It might all have gone badly then. She might have had the window closed and the air on; it was cooler at night, but they were into the dead heat of summer.

But she had been driving with her windows open, luckily. It was a nice night. The air touched with coolness, a forerunner of the storm that would come in during the next day or two. The storm, of course, was part of the perfect plan.

“Who…what the hell?”

She had seen Web, of course.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“You agreed to meet me,” he reminded her politely.

“For a minute, only a minute. And I never said I’d meet you here, in the frigging middle of nowhere.”

She was angry and impatient at having her time taken up. Actually she was frequently impatient with anyone who wasn’t in her favor at any given moment.

“It’s so lovely here. I wanted you here with me, to see and appreciate just how beautiful it is here. I wanted to give you the night.” Web sighed. “I take it you’re not glad to see me?”

“Look, I just saw you earlier today. And I said I’d see you again, so we can talk then. Briefly.” Her voice had a husky growl to it that meant she was getting really aggravated. “But I never expected you to half blind me on this godforsaken road. And you are an idiot. I could have hit you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“You could have been killed.”

“Interesting thought. But to see you, and alone, it was worth the gamble.”

Suddenly she actually saw Web. “Are you wearing gloves?” she asked incredulously. “It’s summer.”

Being Sheila, she didn’t have a clue.

“It’s not so hot tonight. There’s a storm coming in. They haven’t named it. It’s not a hurricane, a tropical storm, or even a depression yet. But you can feel it. Soon rain will pound. Lightning will soar across the heavens. Thunder will sound like drums.”

“Great,” she said, bored. “Poetry. That really explains the gloves.”

“Oh…they’re just diving gloves.”

“Diving gloves? With a storm coming in? You’re going diving now?”

Web ignored her question. “I told you, I really wanted to see you. Alone.”

“Great.” She tossed her silky hair and looked straight ahead at the road. “You’ve seen me. But we aren’t going to be alone. I didn’t agree to any of this ridiculousness. I have to go. I haven’t got time for your games.”

“You’re so wrong. You’re going to make time. To spend the night on the beach. To watch the sunrise. To…appreciate. You have all the time in the world.”

“I don’t!” She frowned, growing wary.

“Yes, you do.”

Her frown deepened. “You have a camera.”

“For taking pictures on the beach.”

“We’re not taking pictures on the beach. Look, I mean it, I have to go. I don’t want to run over your feet, so get out of my way.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. There’s so much that’s worth experiencing, especially before a storm. The colors…you’ve got to see them. You never really see what’s right in front of your face. You never saw…me.”

She was staring at Web, completely confused and dismissive.

“Look—”

“Sheila, you are going to see the sunrise.”

Web tossed the floodlight into her car, then reached for her. Real alarm rose in her eyes as she read something in his.

Web meant business.

She tried to hit the button to roll up the window. Too late.

“Let go! I’m leaving—now.”

She hadn’t expected the strength in the hands that curled around her wrists. She gunned the engine, but she’d put the car in Park.

“Dammit, what is the matter with you? You can’t make me—”

“Oh, yes, I can. And guess what, Sheila? I’m going to.”

Web got the door open and forced his way in, shoving her aside.

She started to scream.

But there was no one there to hear.

No one except for the mosquitoes that buzzed so annoyingly in the darkness, the night owl, the mangroves, the stars cast in the velvet sky and the sea breeze that drifted over the island.

And Web. But he didn’t care. He just smiled, and within seconds, he had her silenced.

He was determined that they would share the coming of dawn.

Eventually the sun rose against the morning sky, the colors brilliant, despite the billowing clouds of the coming storm. Soon, soon…the rains would begin.

“See how absolutely beautiful?” Web asked.

Her eyes were fixed on the horizon.

“Really quite glorious,” Web continued.

For once, she didn’t argue. She just stared.

“You are as beautiful as the sunrise, Sheila,” Web told her. “And I won’t take long. I just want a picture or two.”

Aim, focus, shoot…

The camera was a Polaroid. Instant gratification. He only had a few minutes to linger…to see the light, the shadows, the colors of this world.

The time had come. The scene had been set. The plan had been meticulously made.

But there was more to do, and he had to take care. The task must be completed, nothing left undone.

And so Web began.

Later the sun was full up, and Sheila…had moved on.

Anticipation filled Web’s soul. Delight, glee, that each detail of the night and the dawn had come to such perfect fruition.

Now…

Patience. Web had to practice patience.

There was nothing left to do but wait…and watch as the plan unfolded.

CHAPTER 1

Kelsey Cunningham walked into the Sea Shanty like a diminutive whirlwind.

Dane Whitelaw was stretched out on one of the lounge chairs beneath the palm-covered roof of the back patio when he saw her walk through the rows of crude wooden tables toward him.

He’d been sitting there downing draft Budweiser as if it were water, and it still hadn’t dulled the brutal dilemma that pounded through his mind like a storm surge.

He’d come here, far off the main road, to sit in the breeze and watch the boats out on the gulf because it was something he often did. The norm for him. Usually, though, he didn’t inhale his beer.

If he’d expected something to happen after his recent discovery, it sure as hell wasn’t her.

The minute his eyes fell on her, he knew she just meant more trouble.

She wore designer shades, a straw hat, sandals and a brief white halter dress. She was tanned, and her hair was a light honey shade, not the kind of color caused by endless days in the sun but a natural amber. She had dressed the part for a lazy, laid-back place like this one—she was even carrying some kind of fruity, umbrella-laden drink in a plastic cup. She looked like a tourist, which maybe she was now.

She knew him right away. Well, naturally. He hadn’t changed much. She, on the other hand, had changed. Despite that, he had known her the minute she entered his vision. And a single word had come into his mind.

Fuck.

What the hell was Kelsey doing here now?

She made straight for him with long, no-nonsense strides and stopped right next to his chair.

Even with the heat, she managed to smell like some kind of expensive perfume. She was well-built, smooth and sleek, nice cleavage displayed above the bodice of the casual white dress that still managed to maintain a strange look of elegance on her form. She had gained an edge of sophistication in the years that yawned between them. And she didn’t seem to remember him with any affection, or that they might once have been considered friends. Still, Kelsey was a beauty. Always had been, always would be. And a torpedo of pure determination.

And, long ago now, she had determined to keep herself far away.

So what the hell was she doing here now? Today, of all damned times?

She didn’t give him a chance to ask, didn’t even start off with so much as a simple “Hello.”

“Where’s Sheila?” she asked, a sharp note of demand in her voice.

His heart slammed. The name hit him like a blow to the head.

“Sheila?” he said, forcing a quizzical frown to his lips.

“Yes, Dane, where’s Sheila?”

He studied her for a long moment. “Hmm. Not, ‘Hi, Dane, how are you?’ Or, ‘Long time no see. How are you?’”

“Don’t get funny. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Kid, I’m not pretending anything.”

“Don’t call me ‘kid,’ Dane.”

“Sorry. You are still Joe’s kid sister, aren’t you?”

“Dane, where is Sheila? And don’t tell me you haven’t seen her. There are witnesses, you know.”

“Witnesses to what?”

“No one has seen Sheila in a week. The last time she was seen was here, with you. And you’re going to tell me exactly where she is.”

He was glad of his own sunglasses. And though there were few times in his current life when he was glad of his past, this was one of them. He kept his face totally impassive.

Because he did know what had happened to Sheila Warren, even if he didn’t know exactly where she was. And in the last two hours, the one driving purpose in his own life had become finding the exact whereabouts of Sheila.

Of all the damned things he didn’t need, it was Kelsey Cunningham coming here now, accosting him. Looking for Sheila. As far as he knew, the two women hadn’t seen each other in years.

“Sorry, kid. So she was here with me. She’s here a lot. With a lot of different people. Why in God’s name would I know where she is now…honey?” he asked, his voice a slow, lazy drawl, the tone purposefully insinuating. Why not? They weren’t kids anymore. And the time when they’d been bonded together in sorrow was eons ago now. The last time they had met, she had been far more than cool. In fact, she’d been as frigid and brittle as ice.

Kelsey the compassionate. Sincere, earnest, a daredevil at times. Quick with laughter, swift to challenge. Full of empathy for any underdog; a pit bull against any evil, real or imagined. Once upon a time, Joe’s darling of a sweet little sister.

Times changed.

“Dane, dammit, she talked to you. You were seeing her again.”

Irrelevantly he noticed that she had grown into her effortless grace. And she had gained the ability to appear as cool and remote as a goddess.

He almost sat up, but didn’t. He forced himself to shrug casually. “Seeing her? Well, yeah, honey, I was seeing her. In a way. Me and half the men in the southern half of the state, not to mention nearly every tourist in pants who set foot on the island.”

“You asshole,” she said. Her tone didn’t rise, but something in her words conveyed the extent of her contempt.

“Yeah, honey, I’m an asshole. But before you go off in a tizzy about Sheila Warren, you need to accept the fact that she’d changed over the years. In fact, you pretty much need to accept the fact that she was damn close to being a prostitute.”

She was silent for a moment. She didn’t move, but it didn’t matter. The fury she was feeling seemed to emanate from her like heat waves off black pavement.

“She was…a free spirit. But I know she was with you again and now she’s missing. Someone knows something. If it’s anyone, it has to be you. You talked to her, and she talked to you.”

“Yes, she talked to me. And I talked to her.”

“So talk to me.”

He slid his glasses down his nose for a moment, studying her. “She talked to me nicely,” he said.

“This isn’t a social call.”

“Right. So leave me alone.”

“Since you don’t seem to want to talk to me, I’ll have to see to it that you talk to the police.”

“Fine. The police are usually polite and courteous.” He pushed his sunglasses back up his nose and folded his arms over his chest.

She was still staring down at him. He sighed and looked up at her impatiently.

“So what is it now? I can’t help you. Can’t you leave me alone anyway? See something you like? Hey, kid, have you changed, too? Just like Sheila? Do you want to…catch up on old times?”

Her composure was amazing. She took her time answering him.

“Do I see something I like? No, not at all. In fact, I’m amazed by how much I see I dislike.”

“Well, then, you have changed, honey. So…you’re not into the muscle-bound beach type anymore, huh?”

“I’m just not into assholes like you. Available? You must be joking.”

He looked up at her blandly. “Is that all?”

“All? No, not quite.”

She spoke softly, and, with an economy of motion, she twisted her wrist. The fruity drink fell over his chest like a rain of sticky slime. He almost jumped up to grab her. Instinct again.

He managed to keep his place on the lounge chair. It was important that she keep thinking of him as an asshole.

Strange, he hadn’t seen her in years. But still…she was a Keys kid from way back. Joe’s little sister.

No, Kelsey was a hell of a lot more than that, he reminded himself. But any fleeting memory of what might have been an inescapable bond in the past was quickly doused by the lethal trauma of the present.

Even more than he had feared when he first saw her, he realized that she was trouble. Real trouble.

And he sure as hell didn’t want her…

Dear God, he didn’t want her going the route Sheila had gone.

Still staring down at him, she shook her head with revulsion. “An asshole and a drunk,” she said. “You’re covered in liquor and you don’t even move.”

“I imagine it’s good booze. I’ll just lick myself all over,” he said. “Want to help?”

With one last look of disgust, she turned on her perfect little sandal-heels and started to walk away.

“Kelsey!”

Despite himself, he got to his feet, every muscle in his body quickening with tension.

“Go to the cops, Kelsey, then get the hell out of the Keys, do you hear? Go back to your hot job and your condo on the bay. Do you understand?”

She paused for a moment, then told him what he could do with himself.

“Whatever you want, Kelsey. But I mean it. Tell the cops anything you think they ought to know. Then go home.”

“This is my home—as much as it’s yours.”

“The hell it is. Your home now is a cute little condo in a ritzy section of Miami, with a gate and a security guard. Now go away.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she asked. She didn’t expect an answer, but he gave her one anyway.

“I’m the man telling you that you don’t belong here anymore,” he said. Especially not running around asking questions about Sheila.

“Like I said, Dane. This is my home just as much as it’s yours. And I will find Sheila.”

She started walking away again, taking a circuitous route past the tables. He was tempted to go after her, shake her, tell her to get her nose out of the entire thing. FedEx her back to Miami.

Except that he would wind up getting arrested if he tried that. He was certain that if he so much as put a hand on her, she would call the cops for sure.

So he watched as she walked away through the back door of the Sea Shanty. He had to convince her to go back to Miami and get her the hell out of this. How, he wasn’t sure yet.

But he would. He swore to himself with a vengeance that he would get her out of here if it was the last thing he did.

When she was gone, he clenched his teeth and shook his head, suddenly glad the beer hadn’t kicked in. He walked down the sand-and shrub-covered path to the small spit of salt beach off the back of the Sea Shanty and just kept going until he was immersed. It was the quickest way he could think of to remove the drink she’d spilled on him. And the cool water was good for his head.

He’d wanted to behave completely normally after what had happened. But Kelsey arriving like a cyclone had changed all that.

Now the police were about to get involved, and sooner or later they would find Sheila Warren.

Jesus.

He had to find her first.

Kelsey walked into the right side of the duplex just off US1 in absolute disgust. She threw her purse across the small living room, watched as it landed in a wicker chair, then indulged in a moment’s delicious relief as the air-conditioning surrounded her. Sea breezes be damned. It was hot as hell outside.

Pausing by the door for a moment, she let out a breath of aggravation.

“Well, that went well,” she said, murmuring wryly aloud to herself. Her fault, maybe. Okay, her fault definitely. She could have started out with a, Hi, Dane, how are you? Wow, it’s been ages….

But he had looked like such a beach bum lying there. And Nate, the owner of the Sea Shanty who she was actually married to for a very brief time when they were young, had said he had been drinking all afternoon. And that he’d been seeing Sheila. That they had argued. And that Dane had been strange ever since he’d moved back down from St. Augustine. That he’d taken on a case up there and someone had died strangely and…Nate hadn’t really known all the particulars because Dane hadn’t wanted to talk about them. So something not great had happened, and he’d come home to drink himself to death. Sheila had told her, too, that Dane had been strange. Like a guy ready to throw his life away.

When they were kids, Dane had been like the Rock of Gibraltar. He and Joe had been the leaders of the pack. Even when she had wanted to run away from life and—more than anything in the world—from Dane, she had wanted things to go well for him. It had been upsetting to hear that he had fallen into being little more than a beach bum, with no care for the world, no ambition, no concern for anyone at all—even old friends.

Sheila had been concerned about him.

But it seemed that Dane didn’t give a damn about her.

Kelsey kicked off her shoes and walked into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator door, thanking God that she’d taken the time that morning to do a little shopping for herself. Juice, soda, beer and wine. She had a choice.

The heat she’d come from made her opt for a beer. She hesitated, her fingers curling around a bottle, remembering that she’d found Dane swilling the stuff. She moved her hand, choosing a bottle of cranberry-raspberry cocktail instead. No. She wanted a beer, and the fact that Dane had turned into a slug who drank the stuff lying on a lounge chair in the shade shouldn’t keep her from what she wanted.

Why the hell had he made her so mad? Right from the get-go. Okay, she’d been disturbed from the minute she’d talked to Nate, maybe unreasonably angry with Dane before she’d even headed out to speak to him. Why?

Uh-uh, she argued with herself. She wasn’t going to delve into the psychiatry of that one. She hadn’t seen him in years. And still, today…damn, she’d blown it, that was all. She’d meant to talk to him, get information. Everyone knew he’d been seeing Sheila again. Maybe they hadn’t become a twosome, the way they had been when they were young, but apparently they’d still been close. Even Larry Miller, another friend from the early days who she worked with and Sheila’s ex, had apparently known that, because he’d mentioned something about Sheila saying she was seeing Dane again when Kelsey had told him she was heading to Key Largo for her vacation, to spend time with Sheila.

Nate had told her that Dane and Sheila argued the last time he’d seen her. Cindy Greeley, one of her and Sheila’s best friends growing up, had told her the same.

She pulled out the Michelob, twisted off the cap, took a long swig and looked around the kitchen. “Sheila…am I crazy? Are you just being a careless and inconsiderate bitch, the way everyone seems to think? Where the hell are you?”

The air conditioner hummed in reply. No answer there. In the quiet of the early evening, the sound seemed absurdly loud.

She walked to the rear of the living room and opened the glass doors to the patio at the back of the duplex, separated by a small privacy wall from the neighboring side. Beyond stretched the standard-size pool that belonged to both occupants, surrounded by flowering plants and shrubs. The entire yard was surrounded by a rustic wood privacy fence. The backyard was beautiful and peaceful, the high point of the duplex. And actually, on the patio, she could feel a sweet, salt-touched breeze. She was startled to feel suddenly that it was good to be home. And it was still her home, no matter what anyone said—especially Dane.

Not that she had gone so very far. Her section of Miami was only an hour to an hour and a half away, depending on traffic. But life there seemed as different as night and day, even if the temperatures in both places were almost identical and the same flowers bloomed. A short walk from this duplex could bring her to the Atlantic, and she could look straight out from her condo patio and see the waters of Biscayne Bay, heading into the Atlantic, as well. And still, this was so different. She had felt it today at the Sea Shanty, the small-town warmth, the laid-back ease, even with the place crawling with tourists and the main objective among most of the populace being to make money off those tourists. There were other people, as well, retirees, Northerners sick of the snow, and weekenders who had fallen in love with their weekends and made Key Largo their home. She’d always wanted to see more of the world, and she’d gotten to see a lot of it now. Maybe that was why it seemed so good to feel as if she had really come home.

Once upon a time, home had been the pretty white-painted wooden house south on US1 on the ocean side of the island. No more. Her parents had sold the place years ago. They didn’t come back here anymore. In fact, the house no longer existed; it had been torn down to make way for the tennis courts for one of the new hotels. It had bothered her deeply when she’d started driving around today, so much so that she wished she had told her parents she wanted the house when they offered it to her before moving to Orlando.

Too late now.

Like them, at the time she had just wanted to get out of Key Largo.

She knew, of course, that when she’d left, she’d been running away. There had been far too much of Joe here then, and she had needed a new environment. Time could do good things. Now she liked it because there was still a lot of Joe here. Just as she had liked seeing Nate at the Sea Shanty, feeling the sun and the breeze at the Tiki hut bar, knowing that a short walk in bare feet would bring her to the little patch of private beach.

The Sea Shanty was like a bastion of memory. Nate’s dad had run it when they were kids. Now the place was Nate’s. And when she walked in, she really had felt that sense of coming home, of memory, nostalgia and mostly good things. She had felt a sense of poignant pleasure, being there. But then she had spoken with Nate and mentioned how worried she was about Sheila. Nate had started talking, and then she had seen Dane Whitelaw, plastered and vegetating in the sun, sunglasses in place, beer at his side, the picture of total inertia.

Dane Whitelaw, of all people.

Wasting his life. She’d seen it so many times. People who used this little corner of Eden to escape all responsibility, to drown themselves in beer and couch potato themselves into early graves.

And he was lying, to boot. He had seen Sheila, talked to her…done a lot more than talked, by his own admission. Why not? They’d been off and on for years. The worst of it was that he should care, be concerned. Even Larry, whom Sheila had hurt, had been concerned, insisting that she call him if she needed anything, if Sheila needed anything, if there was anything he could do…Sheila wouldn’t even need to see him. If she needed money, he would be happy to help her out. Nate had been concerned, too, shaking his head and telling her that they all worried about Sheila, but hell, what could they do? She was a grown-up.

Nate had told her, too, that Sheila often made dates with her friends—lunch, dinner, drinks, coffee, breakfast, whatever—and forgot to appear. She always had an apology, of course. Even so, Nate had seemed concerned, even as he tried to tell Kelsey that she shouldn’t be. He hadn’t seen Sheila in a week, and she never stayed away from the Sea Shanty that long.

Only Dane seemed indifferent. Crude. It appeared that he had come home just to drink himself into oblivion, and he didn’t give a damn about Sheila or anything else.

And, of course, there was that last page in Sheila’s diary, which she had found beneath the pillow on Sheila’s bed. At first she had shoved the book back under the pillow, surprised that Sheila had kept a diary, then determined that a diary was private and she had no right to read it. But when Sheila hadn’t appeared, she had skimmed through, and then gone to the last page.

Have to see Dane tonight. Tell him I’m afraid.

Private or not, she was going to read every page in the diary. Maybe she should have mentioned it to the police.

No. Not yet, anyway. Not until she knew what was in it herself. She wasn’t airing Sheila’s life to anyone, unless it became absolutely necessary.

There was a knock at the door. For a moment she clenched her teeth, wondering if Dane had decided to follow her back from the Sea Shanty. A man wouldn’t need to be a P.I. to find out where she was staying.

And he undoubtedly knew the way to Sheila’s place.

She marched barefoot to the front door, grateful that the owners of the duplex had done away with the old-time jalousie and put in solid wood doors. She looked through the peephole. Cindy Greeley, now her official next-door neighbor in the duplex where she herself was an unofficial guest, was standing on the porch with a tray of something in her hands.

Kelsey opened the door.

“Did you find out anything?” Cindy asked her.

Kelsey stepped back, letting Cindy enter. Even in her bare feet, she was almost a head taller than the other woman, five-nine compared with Cindy’s petite five-two. The smaller woman was compact, with sun-bleached hair, huge blue eyes and a tiny frame. She looked as if she should be heading off to high school, but she’d always had a terrific head on her shoulders, had made it nicely through college, and now owned eighteen T-shirt and shell shops throughout the Keys that might one day make her rich.

“Did I find out anything?” Kelsey said, her tone both musing and slightly bitter. “Nope. Nothing.”

“I told you,” Cindy said.

“Well, wait a minute. Maybe not exactly ‘nothing.’ I did find out that everyone saw Sheila arguing with Dane, but no one knows where she is now. Except, of course, I’m sure someone is lying. Want to come in and have something to drink?”

Cindy gave her a quizzical look for a moment. “Kind of early for you, isn’t it? You’re the kid who never had anything to drink during the day. And I thought you just came from the Sea Shanty?”

“It’s after five. Isn’t that cocktail hour?”

“Yeah, I guess. Sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was. Daylight Saving Time, you know. Seems it stays light so late. But hey, I told you to try one of those Wind-Runners over there. That should have knocked you for a loop. Didn’t you get one?”

“I ordered one. But I didn’t drink it.”

“Why not? They’re delicious.”

“It spilled,” Kelsey said. “Are you coming in?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I just made quiche. Thought you might like some.”

“Good, you supply the food, I’ve got the beer.”

They walked on into the kitchen together. “I went down to the sheriff’s department. Sergeant Hansen let me fill out a missing persons report, though he wasn’t real thrilled about it. He didn’t seem to think there was anything odd about Sheila being gone for a week. Usually all you need is forty-eight hours. Here, your remains could be mummified and everyone still thinks you’ll show up when you feel like it.”

“Kelsey, that’s not true. It’s just that…”

“That what?”

“Sheila was living…a certain lifestyle,” Cindy said.

“Still, a missing persons report is important,” Kelsey told Cindy. She looked pointedly at her friend. “And it’s something no one else thought to do.”

“Kelsey,” Cindy said, taking a seat on one of the three bar stools at the kitchen counter, “I’m not sure what to say to make you feel better. You’ve got to realize, Sheila is always going off and not telling anyone.”

“I’m worried because she was supposed to meet me. Here. We made plans. I took my vacation time.”

Cindy shrugged, accepting a bottle of Michelob. “Kelsey, you haven’t seen a lot of Sheila in the last few years.”

“I haven’t seen her at all for at least two years,” Kelsey said.

Cindy spoke slowly. “So you just have to realize—you don’t really know her anymore.”

Kelsey shrugged, feeling the guilt that had plagued her lately over that very fact.

They’d all been friends, growing up. Slightly different in age, but friends because they were islanders, and the area had been pretty darn small back when they’d been kids. She was the youngest, Cindy was one year her senior, Sheila and Nate were the same age, two years older than Cindy. Of their little group, her brother, Joe, had been the oldest—with Dane Whitelaw just one month younger. Then there was Larry, who had been about the same age as Dane and Joe, but he had been a weekender, so he hadn’t really been in the same tight-knit group. Sometimes there had been other kids in the group, as well, guys like Jorge Marti, and even Izzy Garcia.

They’d all grown so far apart over the years.

Well, except for the fact that she worked with Larry, who had been instrumental in getting her into Sherman and Cutty, the advertising and promotions firm where she worked in the conceptual design department. Then, of course, Cindy and Nate were still close friends. And maybe she hadn’t really been that far away, because she had kept up with Cindy. And Nate. Despite the fact that she and Nate had been married and divorced in the blink of an eye. Oddly enough, though totally unsuited to be husband and wife, she and Nate had made it as friends. When she thought back, she was angry with herself for what she had done, marrying him. Of course, she had felt empty then, hurt and very alone. The void in her life had seemed like a bottomless pit. There had been nothing she wanted more then than to get away. And Nate…Nate had never been going anywhere. He’d loved Key Largo and known he was going to stay from the time he’d been a boy. Maybe she had thought of marriage as a means to run away. Whatever her thinking, it had been wrong, and she had done nothing but hurt Nate. Still, it seemed he had forgiven her. And he was happy. He loved his Sea Shanty. Loved fishing, diving, boating and just being in the sun. He had never talked about anything other than living his life right here.

Just as Sheila and Dane had talked about nothing but moving on.

She understood why with Sheila. And with Dane…maybe she understood him, too.

But they’d both come back.

And now she was back here, as well, especially to see Sheila. Except that Sheila had invited her down, sent her the key to the duplex and never appeared herself.

“Have you been out to see Sheila’s stepfather yet?” Cindy asked cautiously.

Kelsey experienced a slight and involuntary shudder. “No,” she said, her admission rueful.

“Well, neither have I,” Cindy murmured. “And he’s actually the man we should be asking about her.”

“I’m surprised she keeps in any kind of contact with him.”

“She has to. They’re connected by her mother’s trust fund.”

“You know what?” Kelsey said, suddenly decisive. “I’m going out there right now.”

“Wait a minute! Why?” Cindy asked. “We’re going to have beer and quiche. Kelsey, you have to eat, you know. You can go out and see Andy Latham anytime. Go tomorrow in the daylight.”

“It’s still daylight now,” Kelsey said. She was already at the door, slipping her sandals back on. “I suppose I really should have gone out there to see him first.”

“Why? Sheila hated him, you know that. If she had plans, she’d never have shared them with him. Not that she really made too many long-term plans. I lived in the other half of the same building, and I never knew what she was doing.”

“You just said she had to keep in contact with him because of her mom’s trust fund. He still might know something,” Kelsey said.

Cindy sighed. “Kelsey, her car is gone, so she obviously drove somewhere. Maybe you should start by looking for the car instead of with her stepdad. Though I still think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Cindy, she knew I could only take so much time off. And she really wanted to see me. She was worried about something.”

Cindy was silent, which made Kelsey aggravated—with herself and with everyone else. Maybe they were right. She hadn’t seen Sheila in forever. A sense of guilt had brought her here, but the fact that she was feeling guilty didn’t mean that Sheila had suddenly become responsible, or that she wouldn’t forget her plans with Kelsey the same way she forgot plans with anyone else. Sheila might have talked to her, sounding desperate, then forgotten the plans they’d made just a few minutes later.

“Want to come with me?” she asked Cindy.

“No,” Cindy said with a shudder. “And I really don’t think you should go out there, either. You should wait. Get Nate or someone to go out with you. Dane would go. Dane has actually opened an investigations firm here. This is the kind of thing he does for a living. If anyone can find Sheila, it should be him. Make him go see Andy Latham with you.”

Kelsey shook her head, still feeling the burn of her encounter with Dane. “Hire one drunk to go see another?”

“You don’t understand about Dane,” Cindy said.

“Cindy, you’d champion Dane if he’d just robbed the National Bank.”

“Not true. He’s just…I don’t really know the story, but one of his clients was killed in St. Augustine.”

“Murdered?”

“Not exactly. According to the police, it was accidental manslaughter, or something like that.”

“All right, so something bad happened,” Kelsey said. “Bad things happen in the world. It shouldn’t have changed Dane into a vegetable. Anyway, I certainly don’t want his help now. He was like a slug this afternoon. I’ll be fine by myself. Andy Latham is just scuzzy, not dangerous. I’ll be back soon. Throw some quiche in the refrigerator and I’ll microwave it when I get back.” She was at the door.

“Great dinner companion you turned out to be,” Cindy called.

“Sorry.”

Kelsey, glad to feel that there was something she could actually do rather than sit around and wait for Sheila, let the door close behind her and headed quickly for her car.

She was startled when the door opened in her wake and Cindy came out. “Hey!”

Kelsey paused. “Yeah?”

“Kelsey…he might have been drinking this afternoon at Nate’s, but…why did you call Dane a drunk?”

“Let me see…Nate says he comes every afternoon. He’d had half a dozen beers by the time I got there. He was just sprawled out on a lounge chair when I arrived, looking like his mind had been fried for years. Nate said he’s been back here for several months, and that he’s opened a business so he can look like a solid citizen, but that his heart isn’t really in it.”

“That doesn’t make him a drunk.”

“He sure looked like one today.”

“He goes to Nate’s and drinks club soda most afternoons,” Cindy said.

“Trust me, he was reeking of beer.”

Cindy shrugged. “Okay, maybe he was drinking today. I’ve been known to have a few too many myself on occasion. Whatever. If you want to think he’s a drunk, fine, think he’s a drunk. I still think you’d be better off bringing a big drunk with military training out with you to see a scuzzbag.”

“I’ll be all right. I’ll keep my distance.”

“Honestly, Kelsey, you should wait,” Cindy said.

But Kelsey was already on her way.

“Help me, Dane.”

He could remember her words so clearly, and now, with the lowering sun bringing the onset of evening, he found himself hearing their echo over and over again.

There were things he should be doing. But he had searched the beachfront over and over again, and he had found exactly what he had expected: nothing. The “near storm,” as they were calling it, an exceptionally bad spate of weather that had never actually formed into a hurricane, had come through about a week ago before petering out when it moved north and west over Homestead and the Everglades. There had been no damage to the house, but palm fronds had come down with a vengeance, and the beach had been flooded for twenty-four hours before the water receded.

His first response upon examining the photo shoved under the door had been to search, regroup, search again, then think it all out and search for a third time.

No, his first response had been shock. Then sorrow. Deep, gut-wrenching sorrow.

Then had come the knowledge that he was being framed, and that no matter how hard he searched he wouldn’t find fingerprints or proof of any kind that anyone but he had been on his private beach—with Sheila.

The time for emotion was past. No, maybe it could never be past. But he sure as hell didn’t have time for the luxury of pity, self or otherwise. Nor could he fly off in anger.

Now it was time to spread out further, to figure out what the hell was going on and who the hell had hated Sheila viciously enough to kill her. Who was cunning, cruel and psychotic—and held such a deep and maniacal sense of vengeance against him?

With Kelsey in town, acting like the FBI, he was going to have to move more quickly than he’d imagined. Thankfully he had friends in the right places. But since he was withholding evidence, he’d also been aware that he would have to take everything very carefully. But now…

Now it was different.

He had an almost photographic memory, which was going to stand him in good stead right now. After the initial shock of seeing the photo, he had known just where to begin, starting on the most logical path to carry him in the direction of the truth. Except that, with what he did know, the path didn’t make any sense. He shouldn’t be wasting time, except that sitting here had never really been wasting time.

The water and the peace that could be found on a spit of dock on a little island called Hurricane Bay were always good for rational thinking and reasoning.

And remembering.

The long summer day was ending; at last the sun was beginning to set. This was the time when the world was most beautiful. He remembered, thinking as a kid, that his dad was just crazy. They’d had no air-conditioning, but his father had pointed out that the breeze always came through. The house had seemed a shack, but his dad had pointed out that they didn’t need any art on the walls, because they had the most beautiful vista anyone could ever imagine, every night. All they had to do was sit on the rustic porch and watch the sun set, watch as colors came out over the Atlantic, pinks, reds, golds, yellows. Sometimes the skies would be clear and the blue would turn slowly to strange pastels, then indigo, and then night would fall. Sometimes there would be clouds in the sky, and they would become a billowy cobalt before turning into dancing shadows against the moon. When storms came, it was just as beautiful, if different. The lightning would strike the water like bolts cast down by a furious god, and the trees would whip and bend in the wind.

Everything his father had said was true. Now he knew. Just as he knew that no meal in the world was better than fresh fish, just pulled from the sea and thrown on the grill. Odd that he would come to love this place, Hurricane Bay, when he had been so blind to its charms as a kid. Back then, he’d had no idea how great it was to own a private island.

He was glad he’d had the time to let his dad know how much he appreciated the place and had come to love it.

Sitting on the wooden dock, staring out over the water, he closed his eyes and heard her voice again.

CHAPTER 2

“Help me, Dane.”

Sheila’s voice was an echo in his head. A ghostly reproach.

He didn’t need to keep hearing it. He’d already damned himself a hundred times over.

He’d been sitting here that night, just as he was now, the last time he’d seen Sheila arrive at Hurricane Bay.

But before that…

Would things have been different if he hadn’t seen her in action just that day?

He’d been at the Sea Shanty just before she had come over. He’d been drinking soda water with lime, discussing surveillance cameras with Nate. Nothing big had happened. Nate thought that maybe one of his bartenders had decided he wasn’t quite making it on tips and was helping himself to the till. Dane didn’t intend to work for Nate, and he had no intention of charging for the advice he gave. Sheila had been there, too. She came almost every afternoon at about five.

She never bought her own drinks.

Maybe she hadn’t known he was there. Maybe she had known and hadn’t cared. Once upon a time, way back when, he and Sheila had been something of a twosome. But he had to admit, he’d never been in love with her. From the time he had been a little kid, he’d had a path in mind for himself, a plan for his life. A lot of that had come from Mr. Cunningham and Joe, but whatever the reason, his future had been the burning essence in his mind.

He hadn’t wanted to wind up a fisherman in Key Largo, hoping for a catch, dodging the tourists, sucking up to the tourists, watching restaurant managers come and go.

If anything, he’d been determined he was going to own the restaurants.

And Sheila…

Well, at one time she might have loved him in her way. But she’d been just as intent on her own path. She’d wanted out. And getting out had meant more to Sheila than attaching herself to a man with no specific prospects, even if he had ambition. She’d spent her high school years sizing up the tourists and the weekenders—Floridians who usually lived fairly close to Key Largo, where they kept condos or vacation homes, and left their prestigious jobs in the city on Friday after work and returned Sunday night, ready to go back to work on Monday morning.

But he’d always thought he was her friend. They’d had their occasional thing together, even after their passionate breakup way back when. But not in the last few years. Not since he’d finished his military obligations, settled in the St. Augustine area, opened Whitelaw Investigations…and fallen in love with Kathy Malkovich.

He’d seen Sheila a few times since he’d retreated back home. Only with other friends, mostly, or sitting around the bar. She’d even shown up at his place once with Nate when they’d made a major dolphin fish haul a few weeks back and barbecued it on the grill at his place. Because of their past history, people were making more of it than it had been.

Nate had talked about Sheila’s current activities, then cut himself off, remembering that she and Dane had once been more than friends. The usual guy talk had sounded too coarse, even for Nate.

So he should have known. Sheila had always been a flirt. And she was soundly of the opinion that most people fell out of love in life, and that some guys were good in bed and some guys weren’t, so going to bed with a man because he could offer her something was in no way a sin. Look at the jerks most women slept with because they thought they were in love, or thought the guy was decent, she always said.

Sheila gave new meaning to the term “jaded.”

That afternoon, though, just a week ago, he had really seen her in action for the first time. Seen her work her “magic” at the bar.

So he was a little jaded himself. Not exactly sunk in despair, but then again, not ready to go out and tackle the world. And when he had watched Sheila, he’d experienced some strange sensations. Relief, for one. He was thankful they’d never gotten serious or—God forbid—married each other. He felt sorrow, too, remembering the kid she had been. And he had also felt a bit of disgust, wondering what the hell she was doing. There she was, a beautiful woman, doing things she didn’t need to do. She was young, with the world in front of her, and she had seemed to be on the path of self-destruction.

Her sole purpose was apparent from the minute she climbed on a bar stool next to a guy. First there had been the middle-aged Hispanic man sporting the loud jewelry. Heavy gold chains had hung around his neck, and his fingers had been bedecked with gold and diamonds. Sheila had crawled atop a chair with a cigarette, asking for a light. They’d started talking, and he’d bought her a drink, but he hadn’t stayed long. There had been a woman waiting for him out on the patio. Before he’d left, however, Sheila had written something on a piece of paper and given it to him.

Then there had been the younger guy, maybe twenty-five. His cutoffs had carried a designer label, and his sandals were straight from the pages of GQ. His T-shirt had sported a label, as well—not just designer but top designer. Even if he ever got as rich as Croesus, Dane couldn’t see spending that kind of money on a T-shirt.

Sheila had been studying her drink when the young guy had walked in. She must have had some kind of natural radar, because she’d turned around immediately, seen her new quarry, squashed out her cigarette and knocked another out of the pack in front of her.

They’d talked for a long time. And again Sheila had given him her number.

No one had appealed to Sheila after that. She’d noticed Dane at the back of the bar by then. She might have colored just a little, seeing him there. Then she’d tossed her long dark hair and come over.

“So…it’s the long-lost home boy nursing his woes at the shanty bar, huh?”

“Hi, Sheila.”

She’d lit her own cigarette then and tapped her matches on the bar.

“See, old flame, men do still find me attractive,” she’d said softly.

“Sheila, you’re beautiful, and you know it.”

That had brought a smile to her lips. “But it isn’t enough, is it?”

He remembered lifting his hands with a certain aggravation. “It depends on what you want. What the hell are you doing?”

She looked at him. “Do you remember when you liked me, Dane?”

“Sheila, I still like you. You’re a friend.”

That brought another smile. “You never loved me.”

That seemed out of the blue. “You never loved me.”

She looked ahead. “We both wanted to get out, and here we are again. You loved her, though, huh? That woman in St. Augustine.”

He didn’t answer because she didn’t allow him to, rushing back in. “What’s wrong with me, Dane?”

“Sheila, there’s nothing wrong with you. We just didn’t have the commitment, the shared interests, the right whatever.”

She shook her head, staring ahead. “I couldn’t stay with Larry, either. Why not? I should have. It’s like I’m always looking for…I don’t know.” She stared at him. “Hey, want to sleep with me?”

“Sheila—”

“Oh, yeah. I heard. You’re still in mourning. I wish you weren’t. I’d feel…secure if I were with you.”

“Sheila, feeling secure isn’t a reason to sleep with a guy. Any more than money is.”

She turned to look at him with amusement. “Money is as good a reason as any. Come on, Dane, aren’t you feeling just a bit of the old magic?” She reached out beneath the bar, long delicate fingers light on his thigh, then zeroing in.

Actually it was the little jump of arousal he’d felt that had stirred his temper. He’d gripped her fingers, pushing her hand aside, and risen. “No,” he told her angrily—and too loudly.

“Dane, don’t leave me.”

“Sheila, I can’t leave you if I’m not with you.”

He’d turned and left the bar. Nate had seen them, of course. He hadn’t known what they were saying, but since he was at the end of the bar, he must have heard the anger in Dane’s voice. And damn if Cindy Greeley hadn’t been there, too, that day—he hadn’t seen her until then, but there she was, with Nate at the end of the bar, showing him the new T-shirts she’d designed for his bar.

He’d said hi to Cindy and gone on.

That night Sheila had shown up at his house. She’d told him not to worry, she was just stopping by, seeing what he was up to. They were still friends, right?

“Friends, Sheila,” he had told her, and let her in.

At first she had been so casual.

She’d asked him about what had brought him back. He’d told her it had just been time to come home. She hadn’t believed him, but she had pretended to.

“I think, for you, everything changed with Joe.”

He hadn’t answered that. Instead he’d said, “Sheila, what the hell are you doing?”

“Getting by. I should marry some nice guy and settle down. Problem is, there aren’t that many nice guys out there. Besides, you knew me when I was young and sweet and innocent. Okay, I was never innocent. But I was a little sweet.”

“You were married to Larry Miller. There’s a nice guy.”

“A boring guy, I’m afraid. I like excitement. Or maybe every nice guy is a boring guy. I don’t know. You know what, Dane? Men just don’t come in the kind that I really want to keep. Actually, I may be a real voice for my sex.”

“Oh?”

Sheila had laughed, and looked stunning. “Yeah. Guys are usually ratty to women. They fall in love…lust first, most of the time. They marry, they cheat.”

“Not all of them. I’d say it’s pretty even.”

“Not on your life! Trust me. Men always seem to need someone to bolster their egos. Some guy told me once that it’s just natural. You know, survival of the species. Long ago, guys had to sow their seed, just like lions, or some shit like that. Mate all they could so their DNA would go on and on. Instinctively they’re still that way—except, of course, that they don’t really want to procreate anymore, because on the not so instinctive side, something resembling brains kicks in and they don’t want to pay child support. But some guys are innately bad, maybe not even in a way they can help. Look at all the old geezers looking for trophy wives. Sixty-, seventy-, even eighty-year-olds throwing out wives they’ve had for years, finding some beach bunny and patting themselves on the back for having a kid when they’re members of AARP. Makes ’em macho.”

“Sheila, you know, I have friends who have been left by their wives, taken to the cleaners big time by them.”

“See, there you go. Defending your sex.”

“I’m not trying to defend anyone. I just think that people in general aren’t always so great to others. I’ve seen plenty of men behave like real assholes. I’ve seen some women who are just as cold and calculating.”

“Different thing,” Sheila said, waving a hand in the air. “Someone should do a study on it. As for me, well, I guess I’ll just go on thinking that I’m standing up for my sex, using guys like paper cups, tossing them out as soon as they get a bit soggy.” She’d looked at him then. “Dane…are you sure…I mean, sometimes, way back when, we’d get together when neither one of us had a steady thing going.”

“Sheila, you’ve got to trust me here. I’m not what you’re looking for. But I will give you a speech, which is what you need. You’re beautiful. You deserve ten times more than you’re giving yourself. Not to mention the fact that your lifestyle is dangerous. There are a bunch of assholes out there, not to mention the fact that these days the world is full of sexually transmitted diseases, some of which can kill you.”

She’d laughed then. “Oh, great! You think I’m infectious. Dane, I’m careful as hell.”

“No, you’re not. If you were, you’d be looking for something more than money.”

“It’s not just money,” she said softly.

“Then…?”

“I told you, I’m making up for all the assholes out there.” She’d leaned against the pillows on the sofa then, watching him with a rueful smile. “I hear you’re in deep mourning over something gone wrong. I can help. I can make you feel better. If only for a night.”

He had to admit, the thought had been tempting. But Sheila couldn’t really give him anything. And there was nothing he could give her.

“No good, Sheila,” he had told her softly.

And still she’d stayed. They’d had some wine, played chess. She was a good player. Then they’d had some more wine. And finally it had been really, really late, and she still hadn’t gotten up to go.

“I wish you’d want me, Dane.”

“Sheila…”

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked for the second time that night.

“Nothing. You’re beautiful. It’s what’s wrong with me, and the fact that I don’t think we’re particularly good for each other.”

Then that smile. “You know what? I don’t sleep with that many guys. I string them along pretty far, but…I like gifts, good food, expensive bottles of wine. I swear, Dane, I’m not diseased or anything. I’m smart and I’m careful, and more selective than it might appear. And I always carry protection. Dane, dammit, I know you’re hurting, but…don’t you ever just get urges, need some kind of relief? I’m perfect for you. I know you don’t love me, and I don’t want anything from you except to be around sometimes…. You can turn off the lights, drink yourself into a stupor, and I won’t mind. And it’s not like it’s something you haven’t done before, a place you haven’t been before.”

She’d made a move for him. Chess pieces had fallen to the floor. And he’d had a lot of wine, a lot of pain, a lot of guilt and self-recrimination, and a lot of longing. Sheila was beautiful. So overtly sexual she was impossible to ignore. Maybe men were nothing more than slightly evolved beasts. She hadn’t been wearing a damn thing beneath her red dress, and she’d made a point of letting him know it.

“Sheila, I’m telling you, it just wouldn’t be right.” But there had been a guttural quality to his voice then.

“I don’t care, Dane. I don’t care. I just want to stay. For one night.” She stood then. With definite talent, she let the red dress fall to the floor. “Call it a mercy fuck,” she pleaded.

He wasn’t sure he could throw her out naked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

It hadn’t occurred to him that she was scared of leaving. Chalk it up to arousal and maybe even a certain ego. Before he knew it, she was on her knees before him. Her eyes were pleading.