“You shouldn’t have any kinks.” The heat of frustration radiated up Liam’s back.
Turning the side of her head toward him, she tapped her forehead and said, “I already put the waterproof bandages over my stitches.” She stood tall and made circles with her good shoulder. “You have kinks of your own. How is your back?”
He headed toward the kitchen to see about this stuff she had set out. “It’s nothing,” he said. Or, at least nothing in comparison.
“Lifting a fallen roof with your back isn’t nothing.”
As he turned, she unzipped her sports jacket. She started to wiggle out of it on her own.
Even though an enormous frog seemed to leap into his throat, he kept his head enough to take a single long stride to her to help. Beneath she wore a blue tank with spaghetti straps. It had the thinnest line of white lace along the top.
She stepped to the sink and craned her head so that her long blonde locks partially covered her face.
He was useless. Frozen, mesmerized, and useless.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked.
Reaching around her, he turned on the water. She smelled like the flowers her mother planted in the planter boxes on her porch. Taking a towel from next to the sink, he folded it in front of her, then laid it over the rim. Gently, he placed his hand on the back of her head and guided her to the ceramic bowl. Using the hand spray, he checked the temperature and moved her hair around to one side.
He cupped his hand along her hairline to keep the water from running over her bandaged stitches. Her eyelids dropped closed, and the sound that came from her throat almost made him drop the sprayer.
Reaching around her head, his body pressed against hers. This was going to be a problem.
He forced himself to think of basic physics symbols. The wavelength system international is meter. Angular Displacement, radian. Mass, kilograms.
“I think it’s wet enough,” she said.
He meant to say okay, but instead he said, “Temperature, Kelvin.” He was reasonably sure he yelled it.
Her shoulders shook. Her laugh was contagious, and he began laughing as well.
Setting down the sprayer, he took the shampoo and poured a teaspoon amount in his hand. Looking at her hair, he turned the bottle over and poured some more.
“Why didn’t you ask someone to help you with this? You have two sisters.” And you have me. You will always have me. Using his fingertips, he spread the silky bubbles over her scalp. Massaging, cleaning. He could get lost in her crooning.
The muscles in her back relaxed, and she melted beneath his fingers. The basic symbols didn’t help, so he rotated the front of him away from her and was thankful for long arms.
Rinse and repeat. Conditioner. He tried to be thorough yet fast, except he’d never done this before. She’d laid out a towel. After he was sure about the rinsing part, he shut off the water and wrapped the towel around her head.
He helped her upright and reached for the other towel, but she used her good hand to grab the back of his neck and pulled him down to her.
This was not the purposeful, careful Willow she had been with him thus far. This was aggressive and needy. She maneuvered around him until it was his back that was against the sink. She pressed against the length of him as their tongues moved and hands explored.
He gave up on hiding what his body felt and pressed back into her.
Her strong arm snaked between them, and her hand fisted the front of his shirt.
His mind, his heart. They would never come back from this.
Breaking their connection, she gasped for air and said, “Say it again.”
He pulled his chin back and glared in her eyes.
She bit her bottom lip and said, “Tell me the two things.”
He grabbed her face with both hands. “My Willow.” He kissed her once. “My life,” and kissed her again.
Willow sat in the passenger seat alternating between staring at their joined fingers and at him. Contemplating. Planning. Scheming, even.
She wasn’t stupid. Okay, she may have been stupid for much of the past five years, but she’d wised up since her epiphany with her mother in the cemetery. It might be called something more like digging in her claws or hooks or whatever people said these days, but she was over it.
She was alive and felt pretty and wanted, desired even, for the first time in longer than she could remember.
“You’re quiet,” he said and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.
She took a deep breath. “Just thinking.” Calculating.
“It’s not safe for you and Chloe to be alone.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not saying you can’t take care of yourself. You have for years. I know this. It’s simply that there is room at your folks'—”
“Raine is staying with them. My dad put his foot down.”
“I know I’m not your father, but I don’t want you staying alone either.”
“What are you suggesting?” It was clear what he was suggesting. It was cruel, she knew, but far too much fun to watch him struggle.
“I can sleep on your couch.” He held up a hand as if he expected her to argue. “Until we catch whoever was creeping around your home.”
“I can stay in Chloe’s room with her. You take my bed.”
“I know you think—what did you say?”
“I agree with you. I have to think of Chloe. And, the thought of having you at our breakfast table fills my heart. I love you.”
He opened his mouth, then shut it again, squeezed her fingers, and turned into the bump at the end of her parents’ drive.
He parked his truck next to the low spot in their yard that always flooded, then jogged around to get her door. She stepped out and reached for his hand.
Pulling his away, he said, “Keeping this between us for now, remember?”
The words seemed harsh. Had she been the one to say them a short time before? A fake grin was all she could offer.
There was no smoke coming from the back, so she decided the front door was a smarter choice than the backyard where they generally held their family meetings.
The mint leaves called to her. She plucked a handful for a well-deserved mojito.
He opened the door and held it ajar for her to walk through. “Is that enough for everyone?” he asked.
“Point taken,” she said and ducked under his arm to pick more.
She could hear them through the open door. They must be in the dining room nook area, sitting around the table. Taking note that each window and door was closed, she began to understand.
“They think they might have spies.” Liam said what she was thinking.
“That’s got Dane written all over it.”
“He knows what he’s talking about,” Liam said and held the door open for her.
He always had Dane’s back. “Did you save us seats?” She spotted two, even if they weren’t together.
He took the farthest one, and she headed to the kitchen. She could hear just fine from there. She would make a half dozen. If that was too many, she’d sacrifice herself on a second. It wasn’t like she’d be driving home that night.
She heard Raine’s voice first. “We’ve felt, nudged, and picked at every cornerstone to anything we can think of might have been considered a home to Seth.”
“What if we’re wrong,” Zoe said. “That the pictures were of anything he found.”
After taking down six tumblers from her mother’s glass front cabinet, Willow washed the mint leaves, then sprinkled about ten in each cup.
“No,” Henry interrupted. “There’s no other explanation as to why the pictures of the treasure were stored, hidden if you will, in the same place as the photos of his mistress.”
She’d taken a gamble some limes would be in the fruit basket and won. There were several. She chose a few that weren’t yet yellowing and had the right amount of give to the rind.
“I still can’t get over it,” Dane said. “Your brother found buried treasure right here around Ibis Island. He’s a legend.”
A slice in each glass, and the mint and limes were ready for crushing.
“Where did he find it?” Raine said. “What if the cave isn’t the wet uncharted? What if the cave is really the under under, and the wet uncharted is still out there?”
Zoe said, “The cave where I found him was uncharted. I’d have never found it if it weren’t a calm day when I swam near it.”
The group turned silent. The strong smell of minty lime woke her senses. Or, was that limey mint? She smiled at her silent joke and added a few more lime wedges. A lot of ice, some rum, and the rest carbonated water.
She plopped the glasses on a tray, then realized she wouldn’t be able to carry it. Frustrating. She carried a single glass to the dining room nook.
“You washed your hair?” Raine asked loudly.
“Liam did it.” She set her glass down, then ran her fingers through it to help with the drying in the Florida humidity.
Liam leaned forward at that time. “Since I can’t believe Dane hasn’t asked this yet, I’ll be so bold as to say, where is the treasure now? I don’t mean any that is hidden in a cornerstone that is home or an under under. I mean the treasure from the photos.” He stood. She thought it was to make a point, but he walked toward the kitchen and added, “Maybe it’s still secured in the cave from Seth’s pictures. Nothing has been in the news about ancient Cuban dowry items surfacing. No one on the island became suddenly wealthy two years ago.”
She sat down as he disappeared.
“Not that we know of,” Dane said. “Most treasure hunters do it for the trophy, not for the sale.”
Liam entered the area with a tray. “We could smell the mint out here,” he said. “Has Matt, er, Chief Osborne been out to investigate around each of your homes?”
A chorus of yeps, uh-huhs, and general nods came from each person around the table.
Raine said, “We need to find out which one on Matt’s short list is the biggest suspect.”
“Remember he said to also be looking around for other possibilities,” Zoe reminded her. “The person responsible for this might not have been in the original diving team the night Seth was killed.”
“I think former Chief Roberts is key.” All eyes turned to Willow and the mojito now. “He was certain he was getting out of jail soon. When he saw the poem, it was as if he’d seen it before.”
Harmony said, “Matt pointed out that it is a copy.”
Willow continued, “Yes, and it was when Roberts saw Matt’s copy of it when he changed his tune and asked for his lawyer. He turned white as a sheet.”
“Then, he shows up dead,” Liam said.
Willow sighed. “I don’t feel any closer to finding out who’s guilty for stealing Luciana Bezan’s dowry. Or who killed Seth.”
Liam added, “Or cut the beams in the roof to hurt you.”
“Oh, but we are,” Harmony said. “He is coming out. He had Neil Roberts killed. Tried to hurt our Willow. He knows we will know this and are looking for him.”
Henry finished for her the way couples who have been together forever seem to do. “We also know that we have treasure hunters among us.”
“Hey!” Dane argued. “I resemble that.”
Her father offered a rare grin toward him before he continued. “The person or persons who followed us to what we now call the wet uncharted as well as those looking around the corners of our homes may or may not be connected to Seth’s killer, but we are being watched by a murderer for certain and potentially a slew of treasure hunters.”