Chapter 16

She gazed into the mirror and decided that her leg didn’t appear too withered. No doubt, having a removable cast that could be taken off at night had helped. She was pale by Key West standards, she thought, looking at herself in the Day-Glo orange bikini she’d bought for a dollar at Jo Mama’s.

“It’s the only body you’ve got. It’ll have to do.” She was never going to be tanned like burnt cinnamon, the way so many women around here were. And Clive had ordered her to stay out of the sun.

The doctor who had just removed the cast had told her to swim as much as possible to rebuild strength in her leg. She ventured out of her room and onto the terrace at Half Moon Bay. Thank goodness no one was around to see her pale body in the skimpy bikini.

When she’d gotten up that morning, no one had been awake except for Bingo, who had been patrolling the beach, dying to strike terror in the hearts of the birds who fed along the tide line. She had found a note at message central, the table in the foyer, indicating Bubbles had called to say she was “trying out a tequila sunrise” and not to expect her home.

Jiggs had been nowhere in sight. Last night the little stinker—reeking of cod liver oil—had insisted on staying with Matt. Feeling slightly betrayed, she’d let him.

She’d taken the first boat to Key West without seeing anyone who was staying at Trevor’s. When she had returned, after having lunch at Margaritaville with Clive and Trevor, Half Moon Bay was deserted. She’d put on her new bikini, and now she was walking—using both legs fully—down to the beach.

She gingerly put one foot in the soft sand, then the other, taking care not to twist the leg that had been in the cast. She dabbed one toe in the water and found it was deliciously warm, inviting. She took a few more steps into the welcoming surf, then plunged headlong into the sea.

Beneath the aquamarine water, seashells were scattered across the crystal-white sand, and seaweed swayed like graceful ballerinas in the undulating surf. Gliding through the water, colorful fishes swam beside her as she floated along.

For the first time in weeks some part of her didn’t ache painfully as she moved. True, the fingers on her right hand still curved inward like a catcher ready to field a fast ball, and her left leg was still weak, but she was whole again.

With a new face, a new life. Giddy with happiness, she shot to the surface. Laughter erupted from her throat as she treaded water and stared at the magnificent blue sky doming overhead.

“Oh, Mama, look at me now!”

She gazed up into the blinding sun, positive her mother was in heaven. Watching. It was oddly comforting to think of her mother looking down at her and sharing her life. It didn’t make her feel so alone.

She couldn’t help wishing her mother could have visited Half Moon Bay, paradise on earth. Her mother would have loved the majestic palms rimming the white sand beach. The egrets, kingfishers, and frigates would have delighted her mother with their antics.

But her mother wasn’t with her to enjoy nature’s treasure, and wishing things were different was futile. She had to channel the love and courage her mother had given her in the proper direction.

“Character determines fate, Mama. Don’t worry about me.”

A man on a Wave Runner whizzed by, snapping pictures of Half Moon Bay and sending a rouge wave in her direction. It slapped her in the face and washed over her head. She emerged, hair slicked back, blinking furiously to clear her blurred vision.

“What a jerk.”

This was nothing new. Boaters cruised by all the time, fascinated with the compound Trevor had built at Half Moon Bay. The man aimed his camera at her and clicked. She dove under the water, wondering if The Beast would ever get used to people looking at her.

A disturbing thought hit her. Could the creep on the Wave Runner be one of Dexxter’s men? She doubted he could find her. More likely the man was taking pictures of women in bikinis, a favorite pastime in Key West, she thought as she skimmed, weightless, through the water.

“Get used to it,” she told herself. “People look you in the eye now. They talk to you. They take pictures. Amazing.”

She blew out bubbles and inspected the sea life on the ocean floor. She could have stayed down forever, except her lungs were burning, crying out for oxygen. Surfacing, she blinked, the saltwater stinging her eyes.

“Oh, lordy, it can’t be.”

Matt was standing on the shore, watching her. After last night, she never wanted to see him again. “You’re still hot for me.”

Who did he think he was?

Actually, a better question would have been: What kind of person had Rochelle Ralston been? “You’ll love me until I die, remember?” Matt’s words had seemed chillingly strange last night. Even more so now that she’d had time to think about the comment.

No matter how weird Shelly had been, it was difficult to forgive Matt’s conceited, arrogant attitude. She stopped herself, admitting this was really her problem, not his. He couldn’t help it if he didn’t live up to her expectations. If she’d had more experience with men, she wouldn’t have been so … so thoroughly disillusioned.

She stood up and waded ashore through chest-level water that dropped to her waist, her hips, then her thighs as she emerged from the sea. Matt’s sunglasses were pushed to the top of his head. He made no attempt to disguise the scorching gaze that slowly roamed from her wet hair to her ankles hidden in the foaming surf.

And back again.

The soft sand made her a little unsteady on her bad leg as she stepped out of the surf. She did her best to sear Matt with a bad girl’s drop-dead-you-creep look.

“I see the doctor took your cast off.”

Matt’s voice had a hint of a truce in it. She tamped down the urge to make a sarcastic remark.

“Yes. I have to swim three times a day and go to a physical therapist, but I don’t have to wear the cast any longer.” She glanced around for her beach towel, then remembered dropping it onto a chair on the terrace, some distance away. The way Matt kept looking at her made her feel positively naked. The Beast would have run for cover, but she refused to allow him to intimidate her.

“Is that orange thing you’re wearing scraps from a life jacket, or is it supposed to be a swimsuit?”

She bit down on her lip, determined not to take the bait. Obviously, she’d been mistaken about hearing a truce in his voice. He was as confrontational as usual.

“Must be one of Jo Mama’s specials,” he said with a grin some women might consider sexy. He tilted his head toward the man on the Wave Runner. “You’re turning this place into a pornographer’s paradise. That guy can’t stop taking pictures of you.”

The suit was more revealing than anything she had ever owned—including her underwear. Once she would never have dared to wear it and call attention to herself, but urged on by Bubbles and the ridiculously cheap price, she had bought the bikini.

“Check out Jiggs,” he said lightly.

Ahead, she saw something maroon curled up on her beach towel. Couldn’t be Jiggs. Usually, the little guy was the color of sludge.

“What can I say? The woman at Groomingdale’s thought a henna rinse would make Jiggs distinctive.”

She cocked her head toward Matt and saw the humor sparking his amber eyes. Maybe he had been teasing her about her bikini. She had so little knowledge of men and the way their minds worked that she could easily have mistaken a joke for criticism.

“Hold it.” Matt’s arm shot out in front of her, forcing her to halt, “Here comes Bingo.”

The orange-colored alley cat sauntered up to the chair where Jiggs was snoozing and jumped up beside the little dog. Startled, Jiggs opened his eyes, saw it was Bingo, and scooted to the corner of the towel, making room for the cat. Bingo dropped down beside him, then began picking his teeth with his hind paw.

“Look at Bingo’s tummy,” said Matt. “It’s the size of a football. God-only-knows-what he’s digesting.”

She couldn’t help smiling even though Bingo had probably bagged one of the magnificent shore birds. Matt’s tone was lighthearted, engaging. She ventured another look into his eyes.

“Matt, you’re about as charming as a pit bull.”

His adorable grin turned his lips up at the corners of his mouth as if he’d just received the ultimate compliment. She quickly looked away, telling herself not to be taken in by a heart-stopping smile. Or a powerful, inescapably masculine body. Remember, a good offense is a strong defense.

“You know, Jensen, I’ve been thinking—”

“Uh-oh. Naked women should not be allowed to think.”

She looked down at Jiggs and Bingo, deciding against yanking the towel out from under them.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s going on behind those gorgeous baby blues.”

It was a back-handed compliment, and she refused to allow it to soften her attitude.

“Jensen, I think you’ve got a problem. I—”

“No, honey”—he touched her arm, a light gesture that seemed surprisingly intimate—“people no longer have problems. They have ‘issues.’ So? What’s the issue here?”

He was good, really good, at verbal sparring. She knew she was out of her element, but she had a point to make.

“Did you see Indecent Proposal or Honeymoon in Las Vegas?” she asked, boldly looking him in the eye.

“Sure.” His reply was emphatic, but she could see she’d caught him off guard.

“The men persistently pursued those women. What happened? They get the girl.”

He nodded slowly, his dark eyes narrowing—evidently he was trying to figure out where she was going with this.

“Now, take Fatal Attraction and Play Misty for Me. Women chased the men. Did they get the guys? No, sir. Did they get respect? Are you kidding? They got killed.”

Matt took a half step back, saying, “I’m sure there’s a point to this.”

She indulged in a second to blister him with another glaring look. “What we have here is a double standard. Men pursue women and they’re credited with being persistent—a good trait. Women chase men and society condemns them for being obsessed.”

An astonished silence followed her heated comment. Matt’s eyes never left hers, and she could almost hear his brain revving into gear, assimilating what she had said, then formulating a response.

He smiled, an arrogant half-lift of the corner of his mouth. “It’s absurd to expect me to have an intellectual discussion with a nude woman.”

“Jensen, get a life. Can’t you be serious for once?”

Two beats of silence followed, the air filled by the staccato beat of her heart and the soulful call of a kingfisher circling overhead.

“I’m serious, Shelly, dead serious. Society probably does give men more credit than it should for persistence, but this is a matter of degree. You crossed over the line when you threatened my sister. You said you’d kill her if she didn’t leave me alone.”

She had tried to jam that disturbing incident to the far corner of her mind. She couldn’t justify what Shelly had done. Yet, she had no choice except to pretend to be this terrible woman.

“You’re right. What I did was unforgivable.” The reply seemed forced even to her own ears. “I’m truly sorry.”

He shrugged, then looked out over the water toward Key West. “Obsession is complicated and lasts a long time. There was a case, right here in Key West, in the 1930s.”

The way he paused made her wonder. What now?

“A girl named … Elena died and was buried in the cemetery we rode through last night. A man by the name of Von Cosel was so obsessed with her that he retrieved her body and took it to his house. He mummified her, then made love to her every night. It took seven years before their grisly affair was uncovered.”

She swallowed hard to fight down the bile rising in her throat. “Don’t worry about me digging you up, Jensen. I won’t bother you ever again, I promise.”

Why in hell had he told Shelly that story? It was true, but gross. Even in Key West, a mecca for misfits, a man like Von Cosel was certifiable. He opened his mouth to tell Shelly something more upbeat. Jiggs could be a TV star. But the telephone rang and Shelly rushed off to answer it.

Watching her tight buns move beneath the bright orange bikini bottom, Matt cursed under his breath. She was so damn sexy. His unwilling response to her intensified every time he was around her.

He gazed down at Jiggs and Bingo—an orange and maroon eyesore if there ever was one—and tried to get his mind off Shelly. It was impossible. She appealed to him on several different levels.

Sure, she was a heart-stopper, but she was bright too. If she hadn’t threatened Emily, he might have excused her obsessive behavior. That was how convincing her argument had been.

She was itching to take him on, which amused him. He was in a mean mood these days, and she’d borne the brunt of his temper. When he acted like this, he scared the shit out of most people. Not Shelly.

“I won’t bother you ever again, I promise.” Her words came back to him. I promise.

Kicking himself for not remembering sooner, the psychiatrist’s warning replayed in his mind. “An unsolicited promise is a reliable indicator of a troubled person, demonstrating obsessive behavior.”

Shelly had often promised to leave him alone if—and there was always an if attached to the promise. If he would see her one more time. If he would read the note she’d sent. If he would take this one last phone call.

The unsolicited promises had merely been attempts to manipulate him into contact. She would promise and promise, never intending to keep her word.

“Shelly just made another promise,” he muttered under his breath as he walked to the far edge of the terrace and gazed out at Key West across the short expanse of water.

But this promise was different. There was no if attached. She had merely promised to leave him alone.

Friggin’ weird.

It didn’t fit the classic profile of an obsessed person. Okay, maybe she was playing a mind game with him. She promised not to bother him, then deliberately flaunted her sexy bod every chance she got. To attract him, luring him ever closer.

It was working. Even now … Aw, hell. He needed to go into town and find a woman who could take his mind off Shelly.

He turned and walked down the brick path to where Trevor kept Half Moon Bay’s launch. The boat was bobbing in the water, its blue and white striped bimini shading the interior from the afternoon heat. He was untying the mooring line, when he heard Shelly call.

“Matt! Matt! Wait!”

Just what he expected. She had tried to lure him by promising not to bother him, but she’d secretly hoped seeing her in that bikini would make her irresistible. It damn near had.

Okay, Jensen, haul ass. He put one foot in the boat and glanced over his shoulder. Naturally, Shelly couldn’t let him leave. She was running toward him through the sea oats growing along the high tide line.

Don’t run! he silently called. You just got your cast off.

She hit the soft sand, and her injured leg buckled. Arms out flung, she pitched forward, landing facedown.

“Shelly,” he yelled, jumping out of the boat. He raced up the dock and made it to the sand just as she was sitting up. “Are you okay?”

She gazed up at him, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. Aw, hell, she’d hurt herself. Again.

He dropped to his knees beside her and put his hand on her leg. The skin beneath his fingers was smooth and surprisingly soft. “I don’t think you’ve broken it again.”

She wasn’t making a sound, but tears were parading down her cheeks. He tried to lift her into his arms, intending to carry her to the terrace, but she pushed him away.

“I’m fine. My leg’s a little weak. It gave out, but I’ll be all right.” She swiped at her tear-dampened cheek with the back of her hand. “Matt, I need you. Something terrible has happened.”

Uh-oh. Here it comes. He braced himself for one of her tricks. She gazed at him, her beautiful eyes still luminous with tears. Her lower lip quivered as she tried to speak. One look was enough to break any man’s heart. His, for sure.

“The telephone call. It was about Trevor.”