Hurricane Bay

  “So you aren’t still bearing a grudge?”

  She lowered her eyes. “We were one night, ages ago, in another lifetime.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re feeling the same thing now.”

  “Oh? What?”

  “That we both failed Sheila. But I’m begging you, Kelsey—please be careful. Don’t follow me to strip clubs. Don’t go to Latham’s. Or to Izzy Garcia’s. Give me a chance. Believe in me.”

  She watched him for a long moment. “Dammit it, Dane, I want to. But I want to know…things.”

  “Such as?”

  “To start with, I want to know what happened in St. Augustine.”

  For a moment Kelsey thought he was going to remain silent, rejecting the question as totally irrelevant, but then he shrugged. “You really want to know? Right now?”

  “You want me to trust you. To believe you really want to find Sheila. So let’s start with what happened in St. Augustine.” She was silent for a moment, then added, “Please. I’d really like to know.”

  “I’m not sure what you’ve heard,” he said.

  “Nothing, really. I suppose I was so determined to find Sheila that I didn’t ask many questions. I know that something went wrong.” She hesitated. “And that one of your clients was killed.”

  “Yes, a woman was killed. And she was more than a client,” he said.

  Kelsey thought he was going to end it there, he paused for so long.

  “You’d been in St. Augustine for a while, right?” she asked, prodding despite the fact that he might turn around and inform her curtly that it really wasn’t any of her business. He was silent again for a minute, then seemed to decide it didn’t make any difference. He was still wary of her, and probably with good reason. It was true—she had gone after him, when she had first seen him at Nate’s, as if he were the most detestable being alive, something she hadn’t quite understood herself.

  Or maybe she did. Better to go in attacking than be dismissed as an annoyance from the past. No, that wasn’t quite it. Better to go in attacking than wonder how you could still want someone after so many years, still care so deeply when there had been so much so wrong.

  “Right,” he said, eyes on her as if he could see the soul beneath the flesh. “You really want the whole story?”

  “I do.”

  “All right. I had been working up there for a couple of years. Nice life. I liked it. The ocean was still at my fingertips, but it wasn’t Key Largo. And…I just didn’t want to go back to Key Largo.”

  Kelsey understood what he meant.

  “I’d heard you were up there,” she murmured. She suddenly felt warm and uncomfortable, remembering the morning when he’d left. Three days after her brother’s funeral. She hadn’t seen him off at the small airport. She’d fled his house as if all the demons of hell had been after her. She could remember hearing his voice, calling her name. And she could remember seeing him standing at the top of his driveway, a towel around his hips, watching as she gunned her car and drove away.

  He’d flown back to his base, and a week later, he’d been back overseas. His father had been dead by then, and Joe was gone, as well. He’d never called or written. The way he was watching her now, she knew they were both remembering that time.

  “I knew the minute I went back after my leave that I wasn’t going to become career military like my father. And St. Augustine seemed pleasantly tame after I’d gotten out of the service. Not that I hadn’t opted for the kind of work I was doing in the Middle East and Eastern Europe. Joe loved to fly, and he was good, really good. I loved to filter into a different society and find out about the way people thought, and why, how they were likely to react to a situation. I liked the prospect that I could save lives by finding out about terrorist activities or ethnic purges before they could take place. My knowledge of a number of languages was useful, and with my strange coloring—both so dark and so light—it wasn’t easy for anyone to figure out my ethnic background. I was young, and despite some of the horrors I had seen, I still believed in my own immortality. After Joe died, though, things just changed. I wasn’t so sure that I was anything more than a grain of sand on an endless beach. I wasn’t as sharp as I had been, and twice, I almost got myself killed. I had some money, so I found an agency in Key Largo to see to the maintenance of Hurricane Bay so I could wander around a while. Finally I knew I still wanted to live in Florida. Not too far south. Not too close to home. St. Augustine had history and a certain charm. The city was small, but not too small. It was on the water, but far from Hurricane Bay. Joe was gone, my father was gone, God knew what steps Sheila was taking to get where she wanted to go…and you had run.”

  “I hadn’t really run. Not at that point. I went away to college,” she said.

  Dane shook his head. “No. You had already run. You were running the morning I last saw you. So there was no point in going home. Oh, Larry was coming and going, Cindy was around, and Nate was entrenched at the Sea Shanty, but I knew there was something of the past that we could never recapture, and I didn’t want to look back. I toyed with the idea of hiring on at a police department in the north of the state, but after my years in the military, I wasn’t ready to start taking orders again. So I got my license and opened an investigation firm. Which was tedious at times.”

  “From what I understand, very tedious,” Kelsey said. “Hours and hours of just sitting around, watching people.”

  “Sometimes, yes. But I was my own boss, so I could take on the cases that interested me. Still, a lot of the work I took on was small stuff. I wasn’t going to save the world with what I did, but I had to find a niche in the civilian world, which isn’t always easy when your training has equipped you to infiltrate and—” He hesitated, looking at her again. “And kill people. Anyway, I was good at what I did, so I started gaining a certain respect in the area. I took a lot of cases in Jacksonville. Bigger cases, more interesting cases. A few with some really high profile companies. Sabotage, fraud. I had a small but decent place on the water, a dock for the Donzi…a good enough lifestyle in the off-hours, and plenty of work to make me feel useful, and worthy of the fairly exorbitant fees I charge. Then I met Kathy Nottingham.”

  “The woman who died,” Kelsey murmured.

  “The first time she came into the office, she was very nervous. She walked in, a beautiful young woman in dark glasses. She didn’t have a deep mystery about her, though—she just wanted a standard service, information about her husband. I told her that I wasn’t working domestic cases anymore. But then, when she finally took off the glasses, I saw the shiner she’d been given. She said she was clumsy, tripped, some excuse. The usual. She wanted to have her husband followed. She knew that he was seeing other women and she didn’t care, she just wanted out, but he didn’t intend to let her go. She had to find a way to force his hand. I tried to tell her again that I wasn’t taking that kind of case, but there was something about her…I told her I knew she was lying, that she didn’t need a P.I., she needed the police. But she was afraid that if she called the police, her husband would kill her. She said she had heard that I was discreet. She thought that if she had enough against her husband, she could get a divorce and custody of her children. I agreed to help her, if she’d get help herself. Anyway, to make a long story short, I couldn’t budge her that day. She said that as long as he thought she’d be his good little wife at home, he’d shove her around a little but keep up with the life he was living. She had to operate in secret until she had enough to really get away.

  “I started feeling really sorry for her. She’d been a poor kid who’d gotten married right out of high school to an older guy with an income. She’d gotten pregnant right away. And right away, he’d gotten angry when the dishes weren’t set out on the table properly, when a piece of dirty clothing was left for a minute in the bathroom, when she wasn’t perfect. At first he only yelled. Then he started pushing her around. Dragging her over to point out where a vase was off center or a glass had been left. She was
so frightened that day that I finally swore I wouldn’t give her away to anyone, and that I would help her. So I started to follow her husband. I got pictures and video of him in compromising situations. And when I’d see Kathy again, she’d be wearing more bruises.

  “Finally I got really angry. I was afraid I was just going to go up to the guy and belt him in the jaw—which wouldn’t have helped her. I told her I couldn’t help her anymore if she didn’t get out, and I convinced her that no one should live with such abuse. She took her two little girls and left him, and headed straight into a shelter. Her husband realized how badly it could go against him when the first thing we did was get a restraining order against him. He sent his lawyer to give her anything she wanted. She was kinder and fairer than he deserved. She said it wasn’t for him but for their children—she didn’t want the girls to lose their father. Every kid had a right to love their parents—both of them. She was still afraid, but she went through with the divorce. I was with her in court, and afterward, I told him that if he ever touched her again, I’d kill him. He seemed to believe the threat. He acted as if he was ashamed, and just grateful that she was still going to let him see the kids. She got the house, custody, and he got a weekend with his daughters once a month. He wasn’t allowed to go inside the house. He was to pick up the girls outside and return them outside. On the street, in full view of neighbors and passersby. Time went by, months, and she seemed to blossom like a rose. She got a job as a hostess at a restaurant. She was happy.”

  “And you two started seeing each other,” Kelsey said.

  “Right. She loved the water, boats…a day in the sun. Just existing, without being afraid. I enjoyed her company. She was so alive, intrigued by every little thing she hadn’t experienced before.”

  “And then…?”

  “Then one day he went to pick up the kids. And he ran her right into the garage door. She was pronounced dead on the way to the hospital.”

  “My God, I’m so sorry,” Kelsey said. Silence stretched between them. “He was arrested, right? He went to trial?”

  “Oh yeah. He went to trial. The police had him before I could get my hands on him. I was so livid, I could have gone up for murder myself.” He stopped and looked at Kelsey, a certain mistrust in his dark eyes again, along with a flat honesty. “He got out on bail, and I ran into him at a club and wound up in jail for a night. I might have killed him if I hadn’t been stopped. When he went to trial, he got off with manslaughter. He convinced a jury that it had been a terrible accident, that he had thought he had his car in Reverse…anyway, he’ll be out in a few years.”

  “Dane, that’s horrible, and I’m so sorry, but how was it your fault?”

  He sat, still staring out at the water. “I should have seen that the danger was still there, that he was homicidal, and that he wasn’t really going to let her get away. There I was, a guy with his own P.I. agency, ex-military, and in the end, I couldn’t do a damn thing to protect her. And the bastard got away with it.”

  Kelsey shook her head. “It’s not your fault. No one can guard another human being every minute of the day. She decided he had the right to see his children. Because of that, he managed to kill her. What could you have done?”

  “I could have—should have—seen just how deadly he could be. Most of the time, men who beat their wives are cowards who fold as soon as someone strikes back. He played the part. He was remorseful. He was ashamed. He said he knew he needed help. He was polite and followed the rules set up by the court. Kathy even believed that in time he might marry again and be decent to another woman. But all the while, he was just being devious and cunning, waiting for his opportunity. And when it came, he seized it, but because he’d been clever and played his part well, he got away with a vicious, premeditated murder.”

  “No one can really read another human being,” Kelsey said.

  “Yeah? Well, I should have been able to. So you were right. Bottom line, I fucked up big time in St. Augustine and came back to waste away in self-remorse. I just really didn’t give a damn. I would have been happy to drink the hours away. It wasn’t a sense of decency that made me open up an agency down here—sheer tedium did it. I couldn’t drink enough to make the day any shorter. Then, after a while, I guess I became alcoholed out. And I didn’t want to piss away everything my father had done. Cindy is a good kid, Nate’s place is pleasant…I started thinking living down here again wasn’t so bad. Then Sheila came around again. Seeing the way she was living should have scared the hell out of me. I found myself being disgusted and angry instead. I lectured her. But not enough. I slept with her. I shouldn’t have. She’d asked me for a ‘mercy fuck.’ It was so wrong in so many ways. At the time I was still wallowing, but living and breathing. And now, according to all accounts, I was the last person around here to have seen her…to have seen her.”

  Kelsey wondered at his strange hesitation. It was as if he had been about to say I was the last person around here to have seen her alive.

  “Except that I wasn’t,” he said flatly. Then he stared at her, impatient and angry. “The point is, I’ve screwed things up with Sheila, too, so you don’t have to hound me every step of the way and put yourself in jeopardy. I intend to find out what happened to her, and I don’t need your money or your pressure to do it. In the meantime, though, I want you to stay the hell out of it. Do you understand?”

  His sudden about-face took her off guard. “You seem convinced she ran into the Necktie Strangler,” Kelsey said, her voice rigid. “A guy who kills strippers and prostitutes. I’m neither.”

  “Sheila didn’t actually fit the description, either.”

  “She was running around, living the wild life,” Kelsey said.

  “And you’re running in her footsteps.”

  “So let me run with you.”

  “No. Not on your life. You should go back to work. Hell, if Sheila is in a canal somewhere, she might not be found for years. Jesus Christ, they’re always dragging out someone who’s been under water for years…decades, even. Kelsey, have you gone daft? The cops might not be able to solve this thing. Sometimes serial killers are caught, and sometimes they’re not. Do me a big goddamned favor and don’t make me feel responsible for your death, too.”

  So much for any closeness that might have sprung up between them. Kelsey rose abruptly. “Let’s go. I’ll drive you back to your car.”

  “No.”

  “Who’s daft now? This is my place, and I don’t want you here. I’ll drive you back to your car, or you can take a taxi.”

  He looked up at her, dark eyes hostile, face set. “What are you going to do, Kelsey? Throw me out?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

  “I’m not going. You’ll have to call the cops.”

  The challenge in his eyes was so great that she was tempted to do it, just to drag him down a peg. But she wasn’t going to, and she knew it.

  She walked away from him, going to the hall closet. She dragged out a pillow and sheets and went back to throw them at him where he remained stubbornly seated.

  She didn’t say a word to him, just turned again and retreated to her bedroom. She slammed the door and locked it. Childish. And pathetic. He wasn’t coming after her.

  She was both wired and tired as hell. Determined that she was going to salvage a few hours’ sleep, she decided that she was going to pretend he wasn’t on her couch. Mechanically she went through the steps to prepare for bed, brushing her teeth with such determination she was lucky she didn’t rub her gums raw, then standing beneath what must have been the hottest shower endurable by man. She dressed in her most comfortable, threadbare cotton nightshirt, turned off the lights and crawled beneath the covers.

  Her eyes remained open and fixed on the darkness.

  The events since Sheila had failed to appear at the duplex ran like a broken tape through her mind. Dane had opened up to her tonight. A lot. Not enough. He had not been pleased to find them at his house yesterday. He thought Shei
la had been a victim of the Necktie Strangler. Why? Why think that, just because she had disappeared? Yes, Sheila had been running wild. Yes, she had been seeing Izzy Garcia. A lot. But Dane was the one she’d been with last. Izzy had had Sheila’s purse on his boat, but she hadn’t told Dane. Why not? Dane was still holding something back from her.

  He’d gone to the strip club. She’d followed him. Home had held nothing for him, no reason to come back to Key Largo. She had run…run from the very beginning. Sheila had gone to him. Necktie Strangler. He had failed someone he had loved. Wasn’t going to fail again. Didn’t need her or her money. He wanted her out of it. Sheila had been seeing so many people. They all admitted it. Larry had said that every man at the table had slept with his ex-wife. No denials.

  Nate had never told her about being with Sheila. Maybe he had been too embarrassed, too polite, or maybe just too macho at heart to say he hadn’t had what every other man there had had.

  She’d been with Dane last. There had been something there. Sheila had gone to him…because after all these years, the good, the bad, the friendship, there had always been that thing about Dane that made him seem strong and compelling and sexual. A thing that compelled and drew…

  Kelsey had run. He had run. They had all run. Just like a first-grade reader. Run…run…run. Because Joe had died. Because she shouldn’t have needed to be held so badly. She shouldn’t have found something so strong that it had swept the pain away. She shouldn’t have been with a man who had once been Sheila’s. Sheila was gone…. Necktie Strangler, strip clubs, bars, drugs, she could have been into anything. He had been the last one to see her….

  Kelsey kept staring into the darkness.

  When she finally rose, it wasn’t with a real plan. But she got out of bed and opened the door. Tea, a drink, something to make her sleep.

  She walked back out to the living room.

  It was dark, only the dim lights of the city drifting softly in. The sheets were on the couch. He was stretched out, one below him, one on top of him. His chest was bare. His clothing lay on the coffee table.