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“Yeah, maybe.” Matt shrugged, looking out to sea—and the yacht. “Nothing?” he inquired.
“All’s quiet.”
Matt nodded. “Actually, what else could we expect?”
“Nothing,” Keith murmured. He looked at Matt. Neither one of them felt at ease.
“Well, I’m up. You can catch a few winks.”
“Yup.”
“You’re not going to sleep, are you?” Matt asked.
“I’m damn well going to try.”
“Don’t worry. I know it isn’t your lack of faith in me. It’s just your nature.”
“Trust me. I’m going to try to sleep.”
“That’s right. You’ve got a date in the morning, don’t you?”
“What?”
“You have to show Beth Anderson the yacht.”
“Oh. Right.”
Great, just great. His entire conversation had been overheard.
“It will be fine. It’s Sunday at last. The working world will return to work,” Matt said. “And we’ll have the place to ourselves again.”
Keith murmured a disjointed, “Not exactly.”
“I don’t blame you, by the way,” Matt went on.
“Blame me for what?” Keith said.
“If Beth Anderson had looked at me with so much as a slightly interested smile, well…I’d forget everything, too.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” Keith said.
He left Matt by the palm and returned to his tent.
But Matt had been right.
He lay awake. And listened.
He couldn’t help remembering a picture that was as vivid in his mind’s eye as if he were back at the morgue again, staring down at Brandon Emery’s face. He’d been so young. Twenty-four and so damn good at everything he did. One of the brightest newcomers, filled with all the right stuff, as they said.
Too damn good. He shouldn’t have been out alone. Especially when he had seen something, known something. And he had known something. Keith could still recall the last e-mail he’d gotten from Brandon, word for word.
I think I’ve got it. Honest to God, you’re not going to believe it. I’m going to check it out, and I’ll let you know next time I write.
But there had been no next time.
No next time for Brandon.
Keith had never heard from him again. Not until he had been called to see the body. What had seemed like a fairly easy—even run-of-the-mill—venture had turned deadly, and the image of Brandon Emery in the morgue was one that would never leave his mind.
His body had floated up near Islamorada. His boat had been found drifting a few miles farther north. But he hadn’t been anywhere near Islamorada when he had e-mailed.
He’d been here, working off Calliope Key.
And no matter what anyone said, he hadn’t simply drowned.
He sat up in a sweat. Swore.
Ted and Molly Monoco. He hadn’t known the couple, but he’d read about them. He’d never put them in the same arena as Brandon before. Brandon had been part of his work. Ted and Molly had been retirees, off to see the world.
But they’d been here, too. It might well have been damn stupid of him not to connect everything that had happened in the area. But what was the connection? Brandon’s boat had been no great shakes, and it hadn’t been stolen. Had the Monocos’boat been seized? He’d heard rumors that it had been seen. Rumors. And there had been similar incidents in the papers over the last year.
The Monocos had owned the kind of vessel any modern-day pirate might well envy.
Had they died for that reason?
How could that be connected to Brandon’s death, or their own quest here? Had the island itself become deadly, or remained deadly through the centuries, a place near enough to civilization to attract visitors, and yet remote enough for anything to happen? A place to kill and…
A place to hide the dead?
He would never sleep. Because now Beth was on the island. Beth, who wouldn’t let things rest.
It was chilling.
She would be going home soon. She would be in no great danger, once she returned to Miami. Once she forgot the island.
Forgot the fact that she thought she’d seen a skull…
Gotten over the idea of discovering just what had happened to Ted and Molly Monoco?
6
“HEY, DAD, WHERE’S AUNT BETH?”
Ben, who’d been stowing gear, looked up from the tent poles he was arranging as his daughter rubbed sleepy eyes and stared at him.
“Gone,” he said gravely.
She frowned, shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Dad, where is she?”
“I’m serious. She went out to see the yacht with Keith Henson.”
“What?”
His daughter’s incredulous excitement gave him pause. “I said,” he enunciated, “that your aunt went out to see the yacht with Keith Henson.”
“Oh, Dad. I heard you perfectly.”
“Then—”
“Oh, Dad, it’s too cool.” By then, Kimberly had come up behind her. “Did you hear that? She went with Keith to see the boat.”
“Wow!” Kim agreed.
“I didn’t think she had it in her.”
“She’s just so suspicious.”
“This is awesome.”
“Random.”
“Wicked.”
By then Ben was frowning. “What are you two going on about?”
“Oh, Dad. He’s a hunk.”
“Really fine,” Kim agreed somberly.
“I mean, there was…like, thunder.”
“And lightning.”
“Between them,” Amber finished.
“We were trying to figure out a way to get them together,” Kim admitted.
Ben scowled seriously then. “You two butt out, okay? She’s a grown-up, and she’s not going off any deep end over a guy just because he’s got a six-pack, okay? Don’t you two go pushing anything. She went to see the yacht because I raved about it, and that’s it, do you understand?”
“Okay,” Amber murmured.
“Seriously,” Kim agreed.
Then they looked at each other and ruined the effect, bursting into laughter.
“Amber Anderson,” he said firmly. “I mean it. Leave your aunt alone.”
“He’s acting like a male,” Kim murmured to Amber.
“All touchy,” Amber agreed.
“He is standing right here,” Ben told them.
“Sorry, Dad,” Amber said.
“I mean it.”
“We know you mean it,” Amber told him. She nudged Kim. “Hey, let’s go explore.”
He felt a frown furrowing his brow. “No exploring.”
“What?” Amber protested.
“Stay on the beach.”
“Why, Dad?”
Why? He didn’t know.
“Because I said so.”
“But, Dad—”
“Because I said so,” he repeated.
He turned away, because he really didn’t have a better explanation to give his daughter. As he paused to look down the beach, his frown deepened, and he tried to tell himself there was nothing to worry about.
But everyone, it seemed, was looking out to sea.
Not too far away, Matt was standing by one of the palms. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was looking toward the yacht.
Down farther, Amanda Mason was posed in almost the exact stance, staring out over the water, hugging her arms around herself.
And even farther down…
It was Brad. Staring out at the water, at the little boat nearing the majestic yacht.
A sense of unease filled him, like a little inward shiver.
He literally shook himself, irritated.
He dealt with the scum of the earth, so why was he so bothered now?
With a slight groan, he turned away. Good God, Keith’s buddies—including the owner of the yacht—were right there. The Masons were down the beach. Brad and Sandy were unknowns, but what the hell, they were there, too.
Beth was as uptight as an old schoolmarm, worse than he was himself.
Everything was fine.
