Chapter 12

“Come on. We’re late.” Bubbles rushed ahead of her. “Trevor must be wondering what happened to us.”

What had gotten into her? Allowing Bubbles to drag her into the Bahama Village to buy a bra had turned into a minor shopping spree. Instead of just buying a bra, she’d gone overboard, using a little of the money Trevor had given her, to buy shorts and T-shirts as well as two bras and a bikini. They were such a bargain that the clothes would probably fall apart when she washed them.

How long could she mooch off Trevor? He’d helped her in so many ways. She was determined to pay back Trevor every cent. But it was going to be some time before she could use her right hand well enough to get a job using a computer.

Once again she considered contacting the FBI, and once again she discarded the idea. Dexxter must have a source inside the agency. She had been using her new identity, living in her little house for less than a week, when it had been firebombed.

She didn’t trust the FBI to protect her. Until she could use her hand to defend herself, she was better off right where she was.

Maybe Bubbles was right. If she had a schtick, she could earn a little money to tide her over until she came up with a plan for dealing with Dexxter. But what could she do?

Computers had been her life, her sanity, since she discovered them in high school. An intelligent, entertaining companion, a computer didn’t care what you looked like. It had been a way of avoiding contact with people, she reflected as she ambled along, everyone passing her by without the usual stares.

Duval Street’s sidewalks had been packed, but that was nothing compared to Mallory Dock. It took all her strength to keep up with Bubbles as the redhead elbowed her way between people.

“Look,” Bubbles cried. “There’s Kyle.”

“Who’s Kyle?”

“Kyle Parker is, like, this awesome hunk. He’s house-sitting next door to Half Moon Bay. He would have been there last night except he was training or something.” Bubbles waved at a tall man with dark hair. “Don’t ask Kyle about his job. It’s top secret. He’s a civilian, but he works at the naval station.”

Kyle approached them, angling his wide shoulders to the side to work his way through the mob. He smiled, his deep blue eyes traveling from the new shorts and T-shirt she had purchased to the toes peeking out of her cast.

Suddenly, she was sorry she’d given Shelly’s dress to the woman who’d sold her the new clothes. The baggy dress had concealed her body while the shorts and cropped T-shirt exposed quite a bit of skin.

She’d bought shorts and lightweight T-shirts because the price was right, and the warm, humid climate called for outfits like this. At least she had on a bra, she thought, recalling Matt’s scathing remark about flaunting her breasts.

“Isn’t Kyle, like, to die for?” whispered Bubbles.

She wasn’t accustomed to men looking her in the eye, and she certainly wasn’t used to men looking at her with such … interest. She mustered a smile as she gazed sideways at him. His nose was a bit too long, and his jaw was slightly angular, but there wasn’t a woman on earth who wouldn’t take a second look at him.

“Kyle, this is Shelly. She’s staying at Half Moon Bay.”

He stuck out his hand and uttered a single word, “Shelly.”

He took her hand in his. A choking sigh rose from her throat before she could muffle it, but he didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t release her hand the way she expected. Instead, he held it, saying nothing, merely gazing at her for a moment.

Don’t look at me, she silently cried. Something inside her shriveled when a man looked at her. Then she drew in a calming breath. Let go of The Beast. Get an attitude.

She stiffened her back and raised her eyes to look directly at Kyle. It took all her strength not to take a step back. Kyle’s smile was charming, yet his eyes were wary, emotionless. Gypsy eyes.

Here was a man who carefully watched everyone, everything. She couldn’t help wondering what he did that was top secret. Intuitively, she knew his work was very dangerous.

“You broke your leg,” he commented.

Bubbles piped up. “Shelly was in an accident and almost died.”

“It’s a special cast,” she explained. “I undo the Velcro and take it off to sleep.”

She pulled her hand out of his and feigned interest in the carnival-like atmosphere around her. It wasn’t hard. Ahead of them a golden retriever was doing a high-wire act, running along a narrow wooden plank suspended above the crowd by two tall ladders.

A melange of odors assailed her from every direction. Popcorn and cotton candy. Suntan oil on people who’d come directly from the beach without bothering to shower. Cloying incense wafting from a small basket where a snake charmer had a python swaying hypnotically.

“You’d better let me help you through this zoo.” Kyle slipped his arm around her waist.

Bubbles rolled her eyes and winked. Oh, my, she thought, feeling Kyle’s powerful arm, guiding her.

“Is this your first Mallory Dock sunset?” He negotiated a path around vendors selling woven palm hats, Key West Sunset T-shirts, visors with miniature fans on them, as well as all sorts of food.

“I’ve seen the town, but this is my first sunset on the dock. Trevor insisted I see the show.”

“It’s more like a pagan ritual,” he said as they passed a man wearing nothing but a thong. He’d been spray-painted metallic silver and he was standing on the ball of one foot, his other leg gracefully pointing backward like a ballerina.

“He can hold that position for hours,” Bubbles said as she tossed a coin in the cigar box at his feet.

“It’s all about money,” Kyle informed her. “The golden retriever is on the ground now, picking up dollar bills people have thrown down and putting them in a bucket. This is how most of these people make a living.”

“Just like I told you,” Bubbles said. “Everyone has a sthaaulk.”

“I was expecting people to be standing around, watching the sunset,” she said. The lingering rays of sunshine filtered through the crowd to warm her body. In a few minutes, another day in paradise would be over.

“The sunset is just an excuse to gather and see a bit of street theater,” Kyle said. “I for one am sorry the police won’t let the naked bagpiper perform.”

Bubbles giggled, then waved. “There’s Trevor. Matt’s with him.”

Matt. The blood froze in her veins, despite the warmth of Kyle’s arm. Oh, God, could she pull this off? Remember your attitude.

Matt caught a glimpse of Shelly with some guy, who had his arm around her. A spark of some elusive emotion surprised him, but he tamped it down. On the beach last night, something about Shelly had appealed to him.

His reaction had kept him awake until the pink edge of dawn slowly reclaimed the night sky. Only then did he climb out of the hammock swinging between the palms and go to bed, deciding he’d been without a woman too long. Despite his better judgment, he couldn’t keep his mind off a certain blonde.

“Who’s the guy with Shelly?”

Trevor answered, “Kyle Parker. He works at Fleming Key.”

“His hair’s too long for the navy.” Even from this distance, Matt picked up on a certain I-have-the-world-by-the-tail cockiness emanating from Kyle.

“I think Kyle may have been a SEAL once, but he’s not in the service now. I’m not sure what he does out there.”

“Could be with the DEA. Who actually knows what goes on at Fleming Key?” Matt commented. “SEAL training, for sure, but the DEA also has a unit there to stop the drugs coming in from the Caribbean.”

“Kyle’s a stand-up guy, and that’s what counts.”

A stand-up guy, someone you could count on in a crisis. Okay, maybe. The possessive way Kyle had his arm around Shelly almost irritated him.

“Who’s going to tell Shelly the bad news? You or me?”

“I am,” Matt said without thinking.

“Matt, how ya doin’?” Bubbles asked as she reached them before Kyle and Shelly.

“Great,” Matt replied, watching Shelly. Even to his own ears, he sounded like a wounded bear.

“Kyle, meet my closest friend, Matthew Jensen,” Trevor said.

Matt didn’t catch what the guy said as he stuck out his big hand for Matt to shake. Shelly hadn’t even glanced his way. She kept gazing up at Kyle as if he’d hung the moon.

Kicking himself for noticing, Matt realized that nothing turned heads like a natural beauty. Shelly wasn’t natural—not by a long shot. Still, in the amber light of the setting sun, no one could have guessed she was a cosmetic surgeon’s creation.

There wasn’t any makeup on her face and not a hint of lipstick on a generous mouth that curved up at the corners as if she were on the verge of a smile. Silky, tousled hair fluttered in the light breeze. A bod that was perfect for the swimsuit calendar. If her lower leg hadn’t been in a cast, she could have been perfect.

On the outside.

“Thar she blows!” bellowed a man through a megaphone.

For a moment the crowd stopped watching the various acts and turned toward the setting sun. Only a thin ellipse of the light could be seen on the horizon. In front of it, the ocean was molten gold.

A drumroll sent the crowd into frenzied cheering, which reached a fever pitch when the ocean swallowed the sun in a kinetic bolt of color, representing the entire spectrum of light. Matt studied Shelly as she watched, awed. The childlike delight on her face was captivating.

The second the sun disappeared, most people turned to watch the various acts, the still beautiful spectacle taking a backseat to the human circus. Shelly kept watching, transfixed by the misty violets and rich ambers of the lingering sunset. He wanted to look away—look at anything but her—yet a supernatural force had seized him. He was powerless to take his eyes off her.

“Let’s go see the cat show,” Bubbles cried, breaking the moment.

Shelly turned, looked straight through Matt as if he were just another tourist, then smiled at Trevor. So what else was new? Every woman went for Trevor.

Matt followed the group, trailing behind as they made their way to where a man with green hair like plastic grass in an Easter basket was setting up hoops on boxes of various heights. Nearby, half a dozen cats where waiting in small cages.

“It’s a big mystery how he trains them,” Bubbles said.

He realized Bubbles had been at his side for some time. She was flirting with him for sure, but Shelly had yet to notice him. Obviously, she was keeping the promise she’d made last night. She’d ignored him at breakfast when they’d chanced upon each other just as she was ignoring him now.

The green-haired man with a GOD SAVE THE QUEEN tattoo on his biceps was now taking the cats out of their cages and placing them on stools. The alley cats docilely waited, alert, but unfazed by the throng around them.

“This is everyone’s favorite act,” Bubbles told him. “No one can figure out how he gets cats to jump through flaming hoops.”

To his right on the other side of Bubbles stood Kyle. He was leaning down, whispering something to Shelly. She responded with a tentative smile.

“Shelly seems a little shy at times,” Trevor said, his voice pitched too low for Bubbles to overhear.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Matt replied, again troubled by how close his friend was to this woman. “Remember, she threatened Emily.”

“Words spoken in the heat of the moment,” Trevor said.

Matt cursed under his breath. Shelly had Trevor around her little finger. “Shelly swore she’d kill Emily. My sister was in tears. She honestly believed Shelly would hurt her.”

“After that, Shelly left, didn’t she? You never saw her again until the accident.”

“True, but it took a restraining order to get rid of her.”

The crowd watched as the hoops were set afire. Waving a magician’s wand, the green-haired man chanted in what was supposed to be a foreign language, but sounded more like jibberish. He tapped one cat’s stool with the wand and the saucer-eyed animal soared through the hoop and landed on the empty stool on the other side.

The crowd roared its approval and clapped frantically. The man continued to chant and tap, sending the rest of the alley cats off their stools and through the rings of fire.

“Amazin’!” Bubbles clapped her hands, totally delighted.

Shelly’s reaction was quite different. Her eyes were narrow slits and a frown etched her brow. The same expression marred Trevor’s face.

“Do you suppose those cats are drugged?” he asked Trevor.

“I have no idea. I’ve heard about this, but I haven’t been to the dock show for some time.”

Matt wasn’t surprised. The sunset celebration at Mallory Dock was for tourists, not locals. Since the cruise ships had made Key West a port of call, the dock was as crowded as Times Square on New Year’s Eve. No doubt, Trevor was here because he wanted Shelly to see the famous event.

Now the cats were all flying through the air at once, gliding through the burning hoops with amazing agility. Their glassy, wide eyes reflected the fire, but they didn’t seem afraid.

“Every animal has an instinctive fear of fire,” Matt told Trevor.

Trevor nodded. “Let’s go. I can’t watch this.”

“We’re outta here,” Bubbles informed Kyle and Shelly.

Matt and Trevor led the way, plowing through the fascinated crowd. He looked over his shoulder to make sure Shelly and Kyle were following. The big jerk had his arm around her shoulders as though he owned her.

They reached the far end of the dock, where the crowd was thinner, the air fresher. They walked down the street toward Mel Fisher’s Maritime Museum. The noise from Duval Street filled the balmy night air. Reggae, jazz, the blues, rock—you name it.

The night scene in Key West. Matt remembered someone calling it a consensus hallucination. They weren’t far from wrong. After sunset Duval Street belonged to the tourists who’d come to party. And there were plenty of clubs—gay and straight—to do it in.

“There’s Dr. Burroughs.” Shelly’s excited voice came from behind him.

“He’s joining us for dinner,” Trevor said.

A good-looking man with close-cut brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses was leaning against the fence in front of the Audubon House. Matt had met the doctor briefly last night. He seemed like a nice guy.

“Where are we goin’ to dinner?” Bubbles asked.

“Margaritaville,” Trevor said as they joined Clive Burroughs in front of the charming home that had once belonged to the famous bird-watcher.

“You’re kidding,” Kyle said, echoing Matt’s own reaction. He gave the big lug credit. Locals usually had the good sense to get off Duval after sunset. There were a few good restaurants, but they were jammed with tourists.

Trevor smiled at Shelly. “I promised Shelly a cheeseburger in paradise.”

Shelly looked at Kyle, then at Clive, then at Trevor, and finally at Bubbles. What was he, Matt wondered. The human equivalent of a tarantula?

“We could have a cheeseburger at Jimmy Buffett’s another time,” she said.

“Babe, if that’s what you want to do”—Kyle changed his tune—“I’m game.”

Just what Matt thought. What a guy! He’d say anything to lure a woman into bed.

“No, really. I don’t mind eating at Margaritaville another time.”

“Shelly, I have a suggestion,” Clive said. “Tomorrow, I’m off. Trevor and I will meet you for cheeseburgers in paradise. Margaritaville is less crowded then.”

“Great, I’d like that.” Obviously, Shelly was flustered at being the center of a very minor controversy.

“Let’s take rickies over to Louie’s Backyard,” suggested the doctor. “It’s fun and the food’s good.”

“Come on, yaw’l. Let’s go for it.”

Bubbles led the charge around the corner to where the rickshaws were lined up, waiting for customers. Buff guys in muscle shirts and biking shorts made their living pedaling the two-wheeled carts around the Old Town’s crowded streets.

Clive, the take-charge type, negotiated like a rug merchant in a bazaar for a special rate for three rickies to take them out to Louie’s and wait while they dined. Matt stepped directly in front of Shelly.

“You’re riding with me. There’s something private we need to discuss.”

Matt put both hands around Shelly’s bare waist and lifted her into the rickie. To the driver he said in a tone too low to carry, “I’ll give you an extra twenty to take the scenic route to Louie’s Backyard.”