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4
STRETCHED OUT ON THE SAND, Amber watched her aunt disappear into the foliage, then rolled again to face Kimberly with a sigh.
“We’ve got to do something!”
“About what?”
“Beth, of course.”
“You’re calling her ‘Beth’ now?” Kimberly queried with a brow arched high in a semblance of mature disapproval.
“No…it’s just, we’ve got to do something.”
“She’s so cute,” Kim agreed.
“And so is he,” Amber said.
“Which one?” Kim asked, frowning.
“The cute one.”
“Even your dad is cute,” Kim said.
Amber laughed, shuddering. “Ugh. Dads are not cute.”
Kim shrugged. “I’m sure he is to lots of people.”
“I know, but…ugh. No, I’m talking about him. And I know you know which one I’m talking about.”
“Keith Henson,” Kim agreed sagely.
“We need to get the two of them fixed up.”
“Amber, they’re both here. If they want to get fixed up, they’ll do it.” Kim giggled. “I mean, they’re older than we are. They’ve got to have some smarts.”
“Do you think he has a wife somewhere? Or a girlfriend?” Amber asked worriedly.
“I don’t think so.”
“He better have, like, a real job. I don’t want my aunt working her whole life to support some beach bum.”
“Amber, we’re not getting them married off or anything.”
“But we should get them together,” Amber protested. “Seriously, she’s so pretty, but she never goes out. She needs a date.”
Kim blushed. “You mean she’s not getting any?” she asked with a giggle.
“Kim!” Amber nudged her hard.
“Well?”
“We need to set her up. But first we have to check him out.”
“How are we supposed to do that?”
“I’m not sure yet. We’ll have to see when we get home. Dad has lots of cop friends. We can talk to one of them.”
“Amber, we may never see these guys again once we go home.”
Amber sat up, grinning, and did an amazing Alfred Hitchcock impersonation. “Have you ever had a premonition?”
Kim laughed. “All right. We’ll do a real investigation when we get home. Meanwhile, I’ll find out a few things about him.”
“And how will you do that?” Amber demanded.
Kim smiled smugly. “Silly. I’ll just ask him.”
THE YACHT WAS STATE OF THE ART. Ben loved it the minute he stepped aboard.
“Wow,” he said simply to Lee.
He worked hard and earned decent money as an attorney, and he’d been proud of his own boat, but in comparison, Time Off was small.
And simple.
What the hell does this guy do for a living? he wondered, though he was too polite to ask. None of the guys seemed like dope dealers, and he’d learned that in Miami, lots of people were simply independently wealthy.
Hank Mason wasn’t quite so hesitant.
“How the hell do you afford a puppy like this?” he demanded.
“Family money, I’m afraid.” Lee’s pride was justified when he grinned and said, “She’s something, huh? She’s a Hatteras, top of the line, and she’s been customized, since most of these ladies aren’t set up for real fishing.”
Customized to a T, Ben thought. Topside, there was the kind of rigging that made deep-water sport fishing fun. The flybridge offered every convenience from a global explorer to sonar and radar equipment, along with a stereo system and the more mundane racks for drinks and snacks. The upper deck offered complete comfort, and the decking was exquisite, with teak trimming. There was even a small refrigerator. The stern afforded racks for at least twelve diving tanks, and a lift-top seat bore a small sign that read Diving Equipment.
“Come into the cabin. You’ll like her even more,” Lee told Ben.
“I like her already,” Amanda said. She smiled up at Ben and linked an arm through his. “Now this, I must say, is a boat.”
Ben had known Amanda for several years, though never well. She was definitely beautiful, capable of stirring his senses, but also making him uncomfortable. He’d learned a long time ago that when someone you loved died, you lost a part of yourself, but you were still among the living. And being alive, he definitely had sexual urges. Amanda gave a man the impression that she could fulfill those urges beyond his wildest dreams. It would be a lie to say she didn’t have an effect on him. The problem was, she gave the same impression to every man. He would never trust a woman like her if he so much as blinked. For some guys, it would be okay. They were players. It was curious, though, that she seemed to be hanging on to him. He knew he was decent looking, fit and made a good living.
But the island, as Amanda had said herself, was chockfull of testosterone. Lee, Matt and Keith were the kind of men women always seemed to go for—well-muscled, tall, with the slightly rough good looks and hard-adventure attitude that seemed to draw women like moths.
So why the hell was Amanda clinging to him?
He wasn’t a player. His life focused—maybe too much, as Beth was always warning him—on his daughter. And he had a great career. So unless he found himself falling head over heels in love again, he kept his social life discreet. It actually did exist, which might surprise his sister.
But then, a lot about him might surprise his sister.
“Cool, huh?” Amanda murmured, snuggling a little closer. She was wearing sexy perfume, and she knew how to press her anatomy against a guy.
He smiled and shrugged, looking down at her. “It’s one hell of a boat,” he agreed.
“Come below,” Lee urged, and the rest followed.
Only Lee and Matt were hosting their excursion. Keith had chosen not to come, and despite his impatience with Beth, Ben had to admit that the guy staying back had caused him a bit of concern. But Brad and Sandy were on the island, as well, as was Roger. Though he vaguely felt he should be concerned about Keith, he just couldn’t believe the man had any real evil intentions. He didn’t like to believe in instinct—he’d worked in the D.A.’s office long enough to learn that it was unreliable at best—but no matter what logic told him, he didn’t fear for his daughter, her friend or his sister when they were with the guy.
“Oh, wow!” Amanda exclaimed, hugging his arm. “This is beautiful!”
The cabin utilized its limited space with sleek elegance. A turn to the left of the steps led straight to an aft cabin, while the steps themselves led into a galley that seemed to offer more appliances than his home kitchen. The galley spilled into a main salon with a desk that held a computer, a radio and a number of electronics he couldn’t even name. A table looked as if it could hold up to eight diners, and a hallway led to a forward cabin and the head. Everything was leather, teak or chrome.
“Can I get anyone anything?” Lee asked.
“Beer,” Ben said.
Lee moved into the galley, grinning. “Amanda?”
“You have any white wine back there?”
“Sure. Hank…Gerald?”
The other two men settled on beers. After the drinks were served—even Amanda’s wine was in a small bottle—Lee led the way through to the aft cabin. The master stateroom held a large, comfortable bed. “It’s a trundle,” Lee explained proudly. “When you need more space, you just pull it out. Of course, you lose your floor space that way. But it allows for a lot of sleeping space. There are a couple of ‘closet bunks’ in the hallway, as well. There’s a private head here in the master stateroom, too, with a shower. But it’s the fishing we’re out for. Let’s head back up.”
Ben thought Matt might have gone topside already, to fire up the motor. But he hadn’t.
He had remained in the cabin by the computer desk, radio, and Ben had the oddest feeling that the guy was guarding them.
Amanda was still glued to his arm, but Ben had a feeling she, too, was aware that although the saying here seemed to be Make yourself at home, there were certain areas of home that were off-limits.
Why?
His instincts were kicking in again. There was something askew with this picture. But what? For a sick moment he wondered if these guys were involved in a modern piracy ring, if they hadn’t acquired the yacht illegally. Then again, if a vessel like this had gone missing, he would have heard about it. The members of the club had associates all over the world as well, and the theft of a craft like the Sea Serpent wouldn’t have gone unnoted.
So much for his instincts. On the one hand, he was convinced that Keith, back onshore, would never cause the least danger to the people Ben loved. And on the other hand…
“C’mon,” Lee urged. “Come see the fish finder on this beauty. We’ll be hauling in our dinner at turbo speed.”
Amanda disentangled herself from Ben, yawning. “You know, I was thinking maybe I’d take a little snooze.” She laughed softly, looking at Ben. “We were all awakened in the middle of the night,” she reminded them.
“No way,” Lee protested. “We’re striking out to sea, all for one and one for all. Everyone topside!”
Amanda pouted prettily. She would have spoken again, Ben was certain, except that Lee was striding toward them, ready to herd them all up, as if he were a friendly sheepdog keeping the masses together.
He wondered if he was just creating a sense of something that wasn’t there, more spooked by Beth’s unease than he’d realized.
She was worse than he was, worrying about Amber, worrying about him, spending the majority of her time at work. For most young women, the club would be a smorgasbord of rugged, tanned, athletic professional men. But not for Beth, who didn’t date where she worked. It was as if she was oblivious.
Tall, tanned, perfectly fit in a feminine way—stacked—with her dark hair and exotic eyes, she was probably the greatest catch on the island. But even here, she was proving adept at keeping her distance.
“You’re mean,” Amanda teased Lee, and clasping his arm, a pretty moue on her face. “I’m just so sleepy.”
“I’ll set you up on deck. You’ll love it,” Lee assured her.
At that moment Ben knew for a fact that his suspicions were correct.
No one, for any reason, was going to be left in the cabin alone.
So just what were they up to?
“SHH!”
Beth found the sound absurdly reassuring. Though she couldn’t see the man whose hand was on her mouth, she knew it was Keith Henson. Was it the feel of him? A certain chemistry? It didn’t matter. She just knew.
She felt his other hand spanning the bare flesh of her midriff. He was tense but no longer forceful, and the hand on her mouth eased, then moved away. She could feel the thud of both his heart and her own.
As they stood there, silent, strangely bonded, Brad and Sandy appeared in the clearing.
And Brad was the one wielding the machete.
It was a wicked-looking weapon, and yet…boaters planning to put ashore on an island might readily have one. In fact, he was using it for the exact purpose one might expect in such a circumstance—chopping away at the heavy growth.
“I think it was here,” Sandy said wearily.
“Here is an awfully damn big space,” Brad said irritably.
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a small island.”
“Way too small, at the moment. We should have realized. It’s a weekend.”
“Should we just quit moaning and start looking?”
Beth adjusted her footing ever so slightly. Behind her, Keith did likewise. He seemed to have no intention of letting her go, accosting the pair or letting his own presence be known. She could feel the coiled tension in him. He was listening intently.
Were they looking for a skull?
And if Keith Henson didn’t know about the skull, why would he be so worried about a young couple searching a clearing on the island?
She turned slightly, looking up at him as Brad hacked away at overhanging fronds and branches. He shook his head, warning her that she shouldn’t move, shouldn’t give herself away.
A fly buzzed near her nose. She began to wonder just how long she could stand so perfectly still. Yet, her own heart continued to race, and her suspicions were hiked to the limit, every fiber of her being attuned to danger.
“I hear something,” Sandy announced suddenly.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Brad told her.
“No, no, I hear something. From the beach.”
“They’re fishing.”
