“Help me, Dane.”

He could remember her words so clearly, and now, with the lowering sun bringing the onset of evening, he found himself hearing their echo over and over again.

There were things he should be doing. But he had searched the beachfront over and over again, and he had found exactly what he had expected: nothing.

His first response upon examining the photo shoved under the door had been to search, regroup, search again, then think it all out and search for a third time.

No, his first response had been shock. Then sorrow. Deep, gut-wrenching sorrow.

Then had come the knowledge that he was being framed, and that no matter how hard he searched he wouldn’t find fingerprints or proof of any kind that anyone but he had been on his private beach—with Sheila.

Who had hated Sheila viciously enough to kill her? Who was cunning, cruel and psychotic—and held such a deep and maniacal sense of vengeance against him?

HEATHER GRAHAM
HURRICANE BAY

This book is dedicated with the deepest gratitude to

many people.

First and foremost, Choly Zequeira. You are a saint.

Sonia Fraser, Kettia Gaspard and Fay C. Watson.

Thanks for so much.

The incredible folks at St. Philip’s Episcopal

Church, Reverends Eric Kahl and Jennie Lou Reid,

David Karcher, Joyce and Glenn Downing,

Vida Welborne, Ron Theobald, Sylviane Sacasa,

George and Myrtice Hektner, Patrice Fike, Judy King,

Julie McCready, Ellen Sessions, Lee Turner, the Right

Reverend and Holly Richards, Manny and Laverne Diaz,

John Dickason and Kris Charlton.

For the Southeast group—especially Doris McManus,

Audrey Fetscher and Rocco.

Sincere thanks also to Dr. Antonio Ucar, Max Sanchez

and Omar Garcia.

And with the greatest respect and appreciation to three

special Metro-Dade policemen—Sergeant Greenberg

and Officers Mallon and Szolis of the Kendall division.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Web loved the Florida Keys.

In fact, his old nickname, Web, had been born there. So few people knew that name. It was special and unique, to a time as well as a place, just like the islands themselves.

Like pearls cast against the ocean, the Keys meandered down from Miami in a southwest string of dazzling and opalescent beauty. The water lay on both sides of the many islands, shimmering in shades of aqua, blue, green, ever varying with the different depths. There were two ways to leave the mainland behind, Card Sound Bridge and US1, and once those routes were touched, the magic began. There was nothing in the world like sunrise on the Keys, the sun arcing into the sky in shades of crimson ecstasy, the heavens flaring with sudden light, golds as brilliant as the reds, pastels streaking from the bright colors with a soft beauty that seemed to caress the soul. Sunsets were even more heavenly, when the fiery globe of day began to fall in slow majesty, creating a new realm of color, magenta stretching fiery fingers out to the horizon, fading to threads of yellow-tinged pink and mauve, until silver and gray began to seep in and finally the orb of the sun disappeared with a last gasp of steaming gold and darkness fell.

There were few other places where darkness could be so complete.

Not, of course, on the beaten path. Not where the clubs stayed open, and the hotels and motels offered streaming lights for their clientele, and not where the laid-back Tiki bars still sent out soft beacons of welcoming, come-hither brightness. But away from civilization, where nature still prevailed, the darkness could be as complete as a stygian hole, as fearsome as a hell crawling with tiny demons, ready to eat away flesh and go deep enough to consume a human soul.

Ah, darkness. It could offer so much. Sweet secrets and sins, a place in which to hide…

And so it was at night, in the darkness, that Web waited, reflecting on the mystery, beauty and romance in the solitude of night and nature. And the task at hand.

There was an element of danger, of course.

A small element…but enough to give a little edge to the thrill.

There were those who thought of Key West as the main draw. But Web found the upper keys far more welcoming and natural. Close to the heady civilization of Miami, far enough away to offer the reefs, the sunrises and sunsets…

Not to mention shadow and darkness. An aura of mystery in which to meet her tonight. A surprise, of course, since she would have no idea of all he’d planned, the night, the breeze, the salty-sweet scent of the air, the beach…

Eternity.

She was so beautiful. Even more so when caught in shimmering rays of light…and shadow.

Web had planned tonight’s event meticulously. Everything before her arrival had been set, and everything to follow was arranged to a T.

Almost.

The day had fallen into place perfectly, but now, as Web waited, the timing began to go awry. All the magic would be lost if she did not arrive soon. And this had to be the night, the night when so much would be solved, when reckoning would be met.

Web’s watch ticked away the time. Minutes passed, then more minutes. Frustration, nervousness, set in.

Leave it to Sheila to be late.

It gave him time to reflect….

Every move she had ever made touched Web’s heart and soul.

She had to come. And soon. Or all the detailed plans, the ebony mystique of the night, the brilliant ecstasy of dawn, would be lost.

And then…a sound.

Her car on the road.

Web switched on the portable floodlight.

The bright beam blinded her. It was like the wrath of God. Her car veering, she braked to an abrupt halt. Web calmly walked to the driver’s side.

She shielded her eyes with a hand.

It might all have gone badly then. She might have had the window closed and the air on; it was cooler at night, but they were into the dead heat of summer.

But she had been driving with her windows open, luckily. It was a nice night. The air touched with coolness, a forerunner of the storm that would come in during the next day or two. The storm, of course, was part of the perfect plan.

“Who…what the hell?”

She had seen Web, of course.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“You agreed to meet me,” he reminded her politely.

“For a minute, only a minute. And I never said I’d meet you here, in the frigging middle of nowhere.”

She was angry and impatient at having her time taken up. Actually she was frequently impatient with anyone who wasn’t in her favor at any given moment.

“It’s so lovely here. I wanted you here with me, to see and appreciate just how beautiful it is here. I wanted to give you the night.” Web sighed. “I take it you’re not glad to see me?”

“Look, I just saw you earlier today. And I said I’d see you again, so we can talk then. Briefly.” Her voice had a husky growl to it that meant she was getting really aggravated. “But I never expected you to half blind me on this godforsaken road. And you are an idiot. I could have hit you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“You could have been killed.”

“Interesting thought. But to see you, and alone, it was worth the gamble.”

Suddenly she actually saw Web. “Are you wearing gloves?” she asked incredulously. “It’s summer.”

Being Sheila, she didn’t have a clue.

“It’s not so hot tonight. There’s a storm coming in. They haven’t named it. It’s not a hurricane, a tropical storm, or even a depression yet. But you can feel it. Soon rain will pound. Lightning will soar across the heavens. Thunder will sound like drums.”

“Great,” she said, bored. “Poetry. That really explains the gloves.”

“Oh…they’re just diving gloves.”

“Diving gloves? With a storm coming in? You’re going diving now?”

Web ignored her question. “I told you, I really wanted to see you. Alone.”

“Great.” She tossed her silky hair and looked straight ahead at the road. “You’ve seen me. But we aren’t going to be alone. I didn’t agree to any of this ridiculousness. I have to go. I haven’t got time for your games.”

“You’re so wrong. You’re going to make time. To spend the night on the beach. To watch the sunrise. To…appreciate. You have all the time in the world.”

“I don’t!” She frowned, growing wary.

“Yes, you do.”

Her frown deepened. “You have a camera.”

“For taking pictures on the beach.”

“We’re not taking pictures on the beach. Look, I mean it, I have to go. I don’t want to run over your feet, so get out of my way.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. There’s so much that’s worth experiencing, especially before a storm. The colors…you’ve got to see them. You never really see what’s right in front of your face. You never saw…me.”

She was staring at Web, completely confused and dismissive.

“Look—”

“Sheila, you are going to see the sunrise.”

Web tossed the floodlight into her car, then reached for her. Real alarm rose in her eyes as she read something in his.

Web meant business.

She tried to hit the button to roll up the window. Too late.

“Let go! I’m leaving—now.”

She hadn’t expected the strength in the hands that curled around her wrists. She gunned the engine, but she’d put the car in Park.

“Dammit, what is the matter with you? You can’t make me—”

“Oh, yes, I can. And guess what, Sheila? I’m going to.”

Web got the door open and forced his way in, shoving her aside.

She started to scream.

But there was no one there to hear.

No one except for the mosquitoes that buzzed so annoyingly in the darkness, the night owl, the mangroves, the stars cast in the velvet sky and the sea breeze that drifted over the island.

And Web. But he didn’t care. He just smiled, and within seconds, he had her silenced.

He was determined that they would share the coming of dawn.

Eventually the sun rose against the morning sky, the colors brilliant, despite the billowing clouds of the coming storm. Soon, soon…the rains would begin.

“See how absolutely beautiful?” Web asked.

Her eyes were fixed on the horizon.

“Really quite glorious,” Web continued.

For once, she didn’t argue. She just stared.

“You are as beautiful as the sunrise, Sheila,” Web told her. “And I won’t take long. I just want a picture or two.”

Aim, focus, shoot…

The camera was a Polaroid. Instant gratification. He only had a few minutes to linger…to see the light, the shadows, the colors of this world.

The time had come. The scene had been set. The plan had been meticulously made.

But there was more to do, and he had to take care. The task must be completed, nothing left undone.

And so Web began.

Later the sun was full up, and Sheila…had moved on.

Anticipation filled Web’s soul. Delight, glee, that each detail of the night and the dawn had come to such perfect fruition.

Now…

Patience. Web had to practice patience.

There was nothing left to do but wait…and watch as the plan unfolded.

CHAPTER 1

Kelsey Cunningham walked into the Sea Shanty like a diminutive whirlwind.

Dane Whitelaw was stretched out on one of the lounge chairs beneath the palm-covered roof of the back patio when he saw her walk through the rows of crude wooden tables toward him.

He’d been sitting there downing draft Budweiser as if it were water, and it still hadn’t dulled the brutal dilemma that pounded through his mind like a storm surge.

He’d come here, far off the main road, to sit in the breeze and watch the boats out on the gulf because it was something he often did. The norm for him. Usually, though, he didn’t inhale his beer.

If he’d expected something to happen after his recent discovery, it sure as hell wasn’t her.

The minute his eyes fell on her, he knew she just meant more trouble.

She wore designer shades, a straw hat, sandals and a brief white halter dress. She was tanned, and her hair was a light honey shade, not the kind of color caused by endless days in the sun but a natural amber. She had dressed the part for a lazy, laid-back place like this one—she was even carrying some kind of fruity, umbrella-laden drink in a plastic cup. She looked like a tourist, which maybe she was now.

She knew him right away. Well, naturally. He hadn’t changed much. She, on the other hand, had changed. Despite that, he had known her the minute she entered his vision. And a single word had come into his mind.

Fuck.

What the hell was Kelsey doing here now?

She made straight for him with long, no-nonsense strides and stopped right next to his chair.

Even with the heat, she managed to smell like some kind of expensive perfume. She was well-built, smooth and sleek, nice cleavage displayed above the bodice of the casual white dress that still managed to maintain a strange look of elegance on her form. She had gained an edge of sophistication in the years that yawned between them. And she didn’t seem to remember him with any affection, or that they might once have been considered friends. Still, Kelsey was a beauty. Always had been, always would be. And a torpedo of pure determination.

And, long ago now, she had determined to keep herself far away.

So what the hell was she doing here now? Today, of all damned times?

She didn’t give him a chance to ask, didn’t even start off with so much as a simple “Hello.”

“Where’s Sheila?” she asked, a sharp note of demand in her voice.

His heart slammed. The name hit him like a blow to the head.

“Sheila?” he said, forcing a quizzical frown to his lips.

“Yes, Dane, where’s Sheila?”

He studied her for a long moment. “Hmm. Not, ‘Hi, Dane, how are you?’ Or, ‘Long time no see. How are you?’”

“Don’t get funny. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Kid, I’m not pretending anything.”

“Don’t call me ‘kid,’ Dane.”

“Sorry. You are still Joe’s kid sister, aren’t you?”

“Dane, where is Sheila? And don’t tell me you haven’t seen her. There are witnesses, you know.”

“Witnesses to what?”

“No one has seen Sheila in a week. The last time she was seen was here, with you. And you’re going to tell me exactly where she is.”

He was glad of his own sunglasses. And though there were few times in his current life when he was glad of his past, this was one of them. He kept his face totally impassive.

Because he did know what had happened to Sheila Warren, even if he didn’t know exactly where she was. And in the last two hours, the one driving purpose in his own life had become finding the exact whereabouts of Sheila.

Of all the damned things he didn’t need, it was Kelsey Cunningham coming here now, accosting him. Looking for Sheila. As far as he knew, the two women hadn’t seen each other in years.

“Sorry, kid. So she was here with me. She’s here a lot. With a lot of different people. Why in God’s name would I know where she is now…honey?” he asked, his voice a slow, lazy drawl, the tone purposefully insinuating. Why not? They weren’t kids anymore. And the time when they’d been bonded together in sorrow was eons ago now. The last time they had met, she had been far more than cool. In fact, she’d been as frigid and brittle as ice.

Kelsey the compassionate. Sincere, earnest, a daredevil at times. Quick with laughter, swift to challenge. Full of empathy for any underdog; a pit bull against any evil, real or imagined. Once upon a time, Joe’s darling of a sweet little sister.

Times changed.

“Dane, dammit, she talked to you. You were seeing her again.”

Irrelevantly he noticed that she had grown into her effortless grace. And she had gained the ability to appear as cool and remote as a goddess.

He almost sat up, but didn’t. He forced himself to shrug casually. “Seeing her? Well, yeah, honey, I was seeing her. In a way. Me and half the men in the southern half of the state, not to mention nearly every tourist in pants who set foot on the island.”

“You asshole,” she said. Her tone didn’t rise, but something in her words conveyed the extent of her contempt.

“Yeah, honey, I’m an asshole. But before you go off in a tizzy about Sheila Warren, you need to accept the fact that she’d changed over the years. In fact, you pretty much need to accept the fact that she was damn close to being a prostitute.”

She was silent for a moment. She didn’t move, but it didn’t matter. The fury she was feeling seemed to emanate from her like heat waves off black pavement.

“She was…a free spirit. But I know she was with you again and now she’s missing. Someone knows something. If it’s anyone, it has to be you. You talked to her, and she talked to you.”

“Yes, she talked to me. And I talked to her.”

“So talk to me.”

He slid his glasses down his nose for a moment, studying her. “She talked to me nicely,” he said.

“This isn’t a social call.”

“Right. So leave me alone.”

“Since you don’t seem to want to talk to me, I’ll have to see to it that you talk to the police.”

“Fine. The police are usually polite and courteous.” He pushed his sunglasses back up his nose and folded his arms over his chest.

She was still staring down at him. He sighed and looked up at her impatiently.

“So what is it now? I can’t help you. Can’t you leave me alone anyway? See something you like? Hey, kid, have you changed, too? Just like Sheila? Do you want to…catch up on old times?”

Her composure was amazing. She took her time answering him.

“Do I see something I like? No, not at all. In fact, I’m amazed by how much I see I dislike.”

“Well, then, you have changed, honey. So…you’re not into the muscle-bound beach type anymore, huh?”

“I’m just not into assholes like you. Available? You must be joking.”

He looked up at her blandly. “Is that all?”

“All? No, not quite.”

She spoke softly, and, with an economy of motion, she twisted her wrist. The fruity drink fell over his chest like a rain of sticky slime. He almost jumped up to grab her. Instinct again.

He managed to keep his place on the lounge chair. It was important that she keep thinking of him as an asshole.

Strange, he hadn’t seen her in years. But still…she was a Keys kid from way back. Joe’s little sister.

No, Kelsey was a hell of a lot more than that, he reminded himself. But any fleeting memory of what might have been an inescapable bond in the past was quickly doused by the lethal trauma of the present.

Even more than he had feared when he first saw her, he realized that she was trouble. Real trouble.

And he sure as hell didn’t want her…

Dear God, he didn’t want her going the route Sheila had gone.

Still staring down at him, she shook her head with revulsion. “An asshole and a drunk,” she said. “You’re covered in liquor and you don’t even move.”

“I imagine it’s good booze. I’ll just lick myself all over,” he said. “Want to help?”

With one last look of disgust, she turned on her perfect little sandal-heels and started to walk away.

“Kelsey!”

Despite himself, he got to his feet, every muscle in his body quickening with tension.

“Go to the cops, Kelsey, then get the hell out of the Keys, do you hear? Go back to your hot job and your condo on the bay. Do you understand?”

She paused for a moment, then told him what he could do with himself.

“Whatever you want, Kelsey. But I mean it. Tell the cops anything you think they ought to know. Then go home.”

“This is my home—as much as it’s yours.”

“The hell it is. Your home now is a cute little condo in a ritzy section of Miami, with a gate and a security guard. Now go away.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she asked. She didn’t expect an answer, but he gave her one anyway.

“I’m the man telling you that you don’t belong here anymore,” he said. Especially not running around asking questions about Sheila.

“Like I said, Dane. This is my home just as much as it’s yours. And I will find Sheila.”

She started walking away again, taking a circuitous route past the tables. He was tempted to go after her, shake her, tell her to get her nose out of the entire thing. FedEx her back to Miami.

Except that he would wind up getting arrested if he tried that. He was certain that if he so much as put a hand on her, she would call the cops for sure.

So he watched as she walked away through the back door of the Sea Shanty. He had to convince her to go back to Miami and get her the hell out of this. How, he wasn’t sure yet.

But he would. He swore to himself with a vengeance that he would get her out of here if it was the last thing he did.

When she was gone, he clenched his teeth and shook his head, suddenly glad the beer hadn’t kicked in. He walked down the sand-and shrub-covered path to the small spit of salt beach off the back of the Sea Shanty and just kept going until he was immersed. It was the quickest way he could think of to remove the drink she’d spilled on him. And the cool water was good for his head.

He’d wanted to behave completely normally after what had happened. But Kelsey arriving like a cyclone had changed all that.

Now the police were about to get involved, and sooner or later they would find Sheila Warren.

Jesus.

He had to find her first.

Kelsey walked into the right side of the duplex just off US1 in absolute disgust. She threw her purse across the small living room, watched as it landed in a wicker chair, then indulged in a moment’s delicious relief as the air-conditioning surrounded her. Sea breezes be damned. It was hot as hell outside.

Pausing by the door for a moment, she let out a breath of aggravation.

“Well, that went well,” she said, murmuring wryly aloud to herself. Her fault, maybe. Okay, her fault definitely. She could have started out with a, Hi, Dane, how are you? Wow, it’s been ages….

But he had looked like such a beach bum lying there. And Nate, the owner of the Sea Shanty who she was actually married to for a very brief time when they were young, had said he had been drinking all afternoon. And that he’d been seeing Sheila. That they had argued. And that Dane had been strange ever since he’d moved back down from St. Augustine. That he’d taken on a case up there and someone had died strangely and…Nate hadn’t really known all the particulars because Dane hadn’t wanted to talk about them. So something not great had happened, and he’d come home to drink himself to death. Sheila had told her, too, that Dane had been strange. Like a guy ready to throw his life away.

When they were kids, Dane had been like the Rock of Gibraltar. He and Joe had been the leaders of the pack. Even when she had wanted to run away from life and—more than anything in the world—from Dane, she had wanted things to go well for him. It had been upsetting to hear that he had fallen into being little more than a beach bum, with no care for the world, no ambition, no concern for anyone at all—even old friends.

Sheila had been concerned about him.

But it seemed that Dane didn’t give a damn about her.

Kelsey kicked off her shoes and walked into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator door, thanking God that she’d taken the time that morning to do a little shopping for herself. Juice, soda, beer and wine. She had a choice.

The heat she’d come from made her opt for a beer. She hesitated, her fingers curling around a bottle, remembering that she’d found Dane swilling the stuff. She moved her hand, choosing a bottle of cranberry-raspberry cocktail instead. No. She wanted a beer, and the fact that Dane had turned into a slug who drank the stuff lying on a lounge chair in the shade shouldn’t keep her from what she wanted.

Why the hell had he made her so mad? Right from the get-go. Okay, she’d been disturbed from the minute she’d talked to Nate, maybe unreasonably angry with Dane before she’d even headed out to speak to him. Why?

Uh-uh, she argued with herself. She wasn’t going to delve into the psychiatry of that one. She hadn’t seen him in years. And still, today…damn, she’d blown it, that was all. She’d meant to talk to him, get information. Everyone knew he’d been seeing Sheila again. Maybe they hadn’t become a twosome, the way they had been when they were young, but apparently they’d still been close. Even Larry Miller, another friend from the early days who she worked with and Sheila’s ex, had apparently known that, because he’d mentioned something about Sheila saying she was seeing Dane again when Kelsey had told him she was heading to Key Largo for her vacation, to spend time with Sheila.

Nate had told her that Dane and Sheila argued the last time he’d seen her. Cindy Greeley, one of her and Sheila’s best friends growing up, had told her the same.

She pulled out the Michelob, twisted off the cap, took a long swig and looked around the kitchen. “Sheila…am I crazy? Are you just being a careless and inconsiderate bitch, the way everyone seems to think? Where the hell are you?”

The air conditioner hummed in reply. No answer there. In the quiet of the early evening, the sound seemed absurdly loud.

She walked to the rear of the living room and opened the glass doors to the patio at the back of the duplex, separated by a small privacy wall from the neighboring side. Beyond stretched the standard-size pool that belonged to both occupants, surrounded by flowering plants and shrubs. The entire yard was surrounded by a rustic wood privacy fence. The backyard was beautiful and peaceful, the high point of the duplex. And actually, on the patio, she could feel a sweet, salt-touched breeze. She was startled to feel suddenly that it was good to be home. And it was still her home, no matter what anyone said—especially Dane.

Not that she had gone so very far. Her section of Miami was only an hour to an hour and a half away, depending on traffic. But life there seemed as different as night and day, even if the temperatures in both places were almost identical and the same flowers bloomed. A short walk from this duplex could bring her to the Atlantic, and she could look straight out from her condo patio and see the waters of Biscayne Bay, heading into the Atlantic, as well. And still, this was so different. She had felt it today at the Sea Shanty, the small-town warmth, the laid-back ease, even with the place crawling with tourists and the main objective among most of the populace being to make money off those tourists. There were other people, as well, retirees, Northerners sick of the snow, and weekenders who had fallen in love with their weekends and made Key Largo their home. She’d always wanted to see more of the world, and she’d gotten to see a lot of it now. Maybe that was why it seemed so good to feel as if she had really come home.

Once upon a time, home had been the pretty white-painted wooden house south on US1 on the ocean side of the island. No more. Her parents had sold the place years ago. They didn’t come back here anymore. In fact, the house no longer existed; it had been torn down to make way for the tennis courts for one of the new hotels. It had bothered her deeply when she’d started driving around today, so much so that she wished she had told her parents she wanted the house when they offered it to her before moving to Orlando.

Too late now.

Like them, at the time she had just wanted to get out of Key Largo.

She knew, of course, that when she’d left, she’d been running away. There had been far too much of Joe here then, and she had needed a new environment. Time could do good things. Now she liked it because there was still a lot of Joe here. Just as she had liked seeing Nate at the Sea Shanty, feeling the sun and the breeze at the Tiki hut bar, knowing that a short walk in bare feet would bring her to the little patch of private beach.

The Sea Shanty was like a bastion of memory. Nate’s dad had run it when they were kids. Now the place was Nate’s. And when she walked in, she really had felt that sense of coming home, of memory, nostalgia and mostly good things. She had felt a sense of poignant pleasure, being there. But then she had spoken with Nate and mentioned how worried she was about Sheila. Nate had started talking, and then she had seen Dane Whitelaw, plastered and vegetating in the sun, sunglasses in place, beer at his side, the picture of total inertia.

Dane Whitelaw, of all people.

Wasting his life. She’d seen it so many times. People who used this little corner of Eden to escape all responsibility, to drown themselves in beer and couch potato themselves into early graves.

And he was lying, to boot. He had seen Sheila, talked to her…done a lot more than talked, by his own admission. Why not? They’d been off and on for years. The worst of it was that he should care, be concerned. Even Larry, whom Sheila had hurt, had been concerned, insisting that she call him if she needed anything, if Sheila needed anything, if there was anything he could do…Sheila wouldn’t even need to see him. If she needed money, he would be happy to help her out. Nate had been concerned, too, shaking his head and telling her that they all worried about Sheila, but hell, what could they do? She was a grown-up.

Nate had told her, too, that Sheila often made dates with her friends—lunch, dinner, drinks, coffee, breakfast, whatever—and forgot to appear. She always had an apology, of course. Even so, Nate had seemed concerned, even as he tried to tell Kelsey that she shouldn’t be. He hadn’t seen Sheila in a week, and she never stayed away from the Sea Shanty that long.

Only Dane seemed indifferent. Crude. It appeared that he had come home just to drink himself into oblivion, and he didn’t give a damn about Sheila or anything else.

And, of course, there was that last page in Sheila’s diary, which she had found beneath the pillow on Sheila’s bed. At first she had shoved the book back under the pillow, surprised that Sheila had kept a diary, then determined that a diary was private and she had no right to read it. But when Sheila hadn’t appeared, she had skimmed through, and then gone to the last page.

Have to see Dane tonight. Tell him I’m afraid.

Private or not, she was going to read every page in the diary. Maybe she should have mentioned it to the police.

No. Not yet, anyway. Not until she knew what was in it herself. She wasn’t airing Sheila’s life to anyone, unless it became absolutely necessary.

There was a knock at the door. For a moment she clenched her teeth, wondering if Dane had decided to follow her back from the Sea Shanty. A man wouldn’t need to be a P.I. to find out where she was staying.

And he undoubtedly knew the way to Sheila’s place.

She marched barefoot to the front door, grateful that the owners of the duplex had done away with the old-time jalousie and put in solid wood doors. She looked through the peephole. Cindy Greeley, now her official next-door neighbor in the duplex where she herself was an unofficial guest, was standing on the porch with a tray of something in her hands.

Kelsey opened the door.

“Did you find out anything?” Cindy asked her.

Kelsey stepped back, letting Cindy enter. Even in her bare feet, she was almost a head taller than the other woman, five-nine compared with Cindy’s petite five-two. The smaller woman was compact, with sun-bleached hair, huge blue eyes and a tiny frame. She looked as if she should be heading off to high school, but she’d always had a terrific head on her shoulders, had made it nicely through college, and now owned eighteen T-shirt and shell shops throughout the Keys that might one day make her rich.

“Did I find out anything?” Kelsey said, her tone both musing and slightly bitter. “Nope. Nothing.”

“I told you,” Cindy said.

“Well, wait a minute. Maybe not exactly ‘nothing.’ I did find out that everyone saw Sheila arguing with Dane, but no one knows where she is now. Except, of course, I’m sure someone is lying. Want to come in and have something to drink?”

Cindy gave her a quizzical look for a moment. “Kind of early for you, isn’t it? You’re the kid who never had anything to drink during the day. And I thought you just came from the Sea Shanty?”

“It’s after five. Isn’t that cocktail hour?”

“Yeah, I guess. Sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was. Daylight Saving Time, you know. Seems it stays light so late. But hey, I told you to try one of those Wind-Runners over there. That should have knocked you for a loop. Didn’t you get one?”

“I ordered one. But I didn’t drink it.”

“Why not? They’re delicious.”

“It spilled,” Kelsey said. “Are you coming in?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I just made quiche. Thought you might like some.”

“Good, you supply the food, I’ve got the beer.”

They walked on into the kitchen together. “I went down to the sheriff’s department. Sergeant Hansen let me fill out a missing persons report, though he wasn’t real thrilled about it. He didn’t seem to think there was anything odd about Sheila being gone for a week. Usually all you need is forty-eight hours. Here, your remains could be mummified and everyone still thinks you’ll show up when you feel like it.”

“Kelsey, that’s not true. It’s just that…”

“That what?”

“Sheila was living…a certain lifestyle,” Cindy said.

“Still, a missing persons report is important,” Kelsey told Cindy. She looked pointedly at her friend. “And it’s something no one else thought to do.”

“Kelsey,” Cindy said, taking a seat on one of the three bar stools at the kitchen counter, “I’m not sure what to say to make you feel better. You’ve got to realize, Sheila is always going off and not telling anyone.”

“I’m worried because she was supposed to meet me. Here. We made plans. I took my vacation time.”

Cindy shrugged, accepting a bottle of Michelob. “Kelsey, you haven’t seen a lot of Sheila in the last few years.”

“I haven’t seen her at all for at least two years,” Kelsey said.

Cindy spoke slowly. “So you just have to realize—you don’t really know her anymore.”

Kelsey shrugged, feeling the guilt that had plagued her lately over that very fact.

They’d all been friends, growing up. Slightly different in age, but friends because they were islanders, and the area had been pretty darn small back when they’d been kids. She was the youngest, Cindy was one year her senior, Sheila and Nate were the same age, two years older than Cindy. Of their little group, her brother, Joe, had been the oldest—with Dane Whitelaw just one month younger. Then there was Larry, who had been about the same age as Dane and Joe, but he had been a weekender, so he hadn’t really been in the same tight-knit group. Sometimes there had been other kids in the group, as well, guys like Jorge Marti, and even Izzy Garcia.

They’d all grown so far apart over the years.

Well, except for the fact that she worked with Larry, who had been instrumental in getting her into Sherman and Cutty, the advertising and promotions firm where she worked in the conceptual design department. Then, of course, Cindy and Nate were still close friends. And maybe she hadn’t really been that far away, because she had kept up with Cindy. And Nate. Despite the fact that she and Nate had been married and divorced in the blink of an eye. Oddly enough, though totally unsuited to be husband and wife, she and Nate had made it as friends. When she thought back, she was angry with herself for what she had done, marrying him. Of course, she had felt empty then, hurt and very alone. The void in her life had seemed like a bottomless pit. There had been nothing she wanted more then than to get away. And Nate…Nate had never been going anywhere. He’d loved Key Largo and known he was going to stay from the time he’d been a boy. Maybe she had thought of marriage as a means to run away. Whatever her thinking, it had been wrong, and she had done nothing but hurt Nate. Still, it seemed he had forgiven her. And he was happy. He loved his Sea Shanty. Loved fishing, diving, boating and just being in the sun. He had never talked about anything other than living his life right here.

Just as Sheila and Dane had talked about nothing but moving on.

She understood why with Sheila. And with Dane…maybe she understood him, too.

But they’d both come back.

And now she was back here, as well, especially to see Sheila. Except that Sheila had invited her down, sent her the key to the duplex and never appeared herself.

“Have you been out to see Sheila’s stepfather yet?” Cindy asked cautiously.

Kelsey experienced a slight and involuntary shudder. “No,” she said, her admission rueful.

“Well, neither have I,” Cindy murmured. “And he’s actually the man we should be asking about her.”

“I’m surprised she keeps in any kind of contact with him.”

“She has to. They’re connected by her mother’s trust fund.”

“You know what?” Kelsey said, suddenly decisive. “I’m going out there right now.”

“Wait a minute! Why?” Cindy asked. “We’re going to have beer and quiche. Kelsey, you have to eat, you know. You can go out and see Andy Latham anytime. Go tomorrow in the daylight.”

“It’s still daylight now,” Kelsey said. She was already at the door, slipping her sandals back on. “I suppose I really should have gone out there to see him first.”

“Why? Sheila hated him, you know that. If she had plans, she’d never have shared them with him. Not that she really made too many long-term plans. I lived in the other half of the same building, and I never knew what she was doing.”

“You just said she had to keep in contact with him because of her mom’s trust fund. He still might know something,” Kelsey said.

Cindy sighed. “Kelsey, her car is gone, so she obviously drove somewhere. Maybe you should start by looking for the car instead of with her stepdad. Though I still think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Cindy, she knew I could only take so much time off. And she really wanted to see me. She was worried about something.”

Cindy was silent, which made Kelsey aggravated—with herself and with everyone else. Maybe they were right. She hadn’t seen Sheila in forever. A sense of guilt had brought her here, but the fact that she was feeling guilty didn’t mean that Sheila had suddenly become responsible, or that she wouldn’t forget her plans with Kelsey the same way she forgot plans with anyone else. Sheila might have talked to her, sounding desperate, then forgotten the plans they’d made just a few minutes later.

“Want to come with me?” she asked Cindy.

“No,” Cindy said with a shudder. “And I really don’t think you should go out there, either. You should wait. Get Nate or someone to go out with you. Dane would go. Dane has actually opened an investigations firm here. This is the kind of thing he does for a living. If anyone can find Sheila, it should be him. Make him go see Andy Latham with you.”

Kelsey shook her head, still feeling the burn of her encounter with Dane. “Hire one drunk to go see another?”

“You don’t understand about Dane,” Cindy said.

“Cindy, you’d champion Dane if he’d just robbed the National Bank.”

“Not true. He’s just…I don’t really know the story, but one of his clients was killed in St. Augustine.”

“Murdered?”

“Not exactly. According to the police, it was accidental manslaughter, or something like that.”

“All right, so something bad happened,” Kelsey said. “Bad things happen in the world. It shouldn’t have changed Dane into a vegetable. Anyway, I certainly don’t want his help now. He was like a slug this afternoon. I’ll be fine by myself. Andy Latham is just scuzzy, not dangerous. I’ll be back soon. Throw some quiche in the refrigerator and I’ll microwave it when I get back.” She was at the door.

“Great dinner companion you turned out to be,” Cindy called.

“Sorry.”

Kelsey, glad to feel that there was something she could actually do rather than sit around and wait for Sheila, let the door close behind her and headed quickly for her car.

She was startled when the door opened in her wake and Cindy came out. “Hey!”

Kelsey paused. “Yeah?”

“Kelsey…he might have been drinking this afternoon at Nate’s, but…why did you call Dane a drunk?”

“Let me see…Nate says he comes every afternoon. He’d had half a dozen beers by the time I got there. He was just sprawled out on a lounge chair when I arrived, looking like his mind had been fried for years. Nate said he’s been back here for several months, and that he’s opened a business so he can look like a solid citizen, but that his heart isn’t really in it.”

“That doesn’t make him a drunk.”

“He sure looked like one today.”

“He goes to Nate’s and drinks club soda most afternoons,” Cindy said.

“Trust me, he was reeking of beer.”

Cindy shrugged. “Okay, maybe he was drinking today. I’ve been known to have a few too many myself on occasion. Whatever. If you want to think he’s a drunk, fine, think he’s a drunk. I still think you’d be better off bringing a big drunk with military training out with you to see a scuzzbag.”

“I’ll be all right. I’ll keep my distance.”

“Honestly, Kelsey, you should wait,” Cindy said.

But Kelsey was already on her way.

“Help me, Dane.”

He could remember her words so clearly, and now, with the lowering sun bringing the onset of evening, he found himself hearing their echo over and over again.

There were things he should be doing. But he had searched the beachfront over and over again, and he had found exactly what he had expected: nothing. The “near storm,” as they were calling it, an exceptionally bad spate of weather that had never actually formed into a hurricane, had come through about a week ago before petering out when it moved north and west over Homestead and the Everglades. There had been no damage to the house, but palm fronds had come down with a vengeance, and the beach had been flooded for twenty-four hours before the water receded.

His first response upon examining the photo shoved under the door had been to search, regroup, search again, then think it all out and search for a third time.

No, his first response had been shock. Then sorrow. Deep, gut-wrenching sorrow.

Then had come the knowledge that he was being framed, and that no matter how hard he searched he wouldn’t find fingerprints or proof of any kind that anyone but he had been on his private beach—with Sheila.

The time for emotion was past. No, maybe it could never be past. But he sure as hell didn’t have time for the luxury of pity, self or otherwise. Nor could he fly off in anger.

Now it was time to spread out further, to figure out what the hell was going on and who the hell had hated Sheila viciously enough to kill her. Who was cunning, cruel and psychotic—and held such a deep and maniacal sense of vengeance against him?

With Kelsey in town, acting like the FBI, he was going to have to move more quickly than he’d imagined. Thankfully he had friends in the right places. But since he was withholding evidence, he’d also been aware that he would have to take everything very carefully. But now…

Now it was different.

He had an almost photographic memory, which was going to stand him in good stead right now. After the initial shock of seeing the photo, he had known just where to begin, starting on the most logical path to carry him in the direction of the truth. Except that, with what he did know, the path didn’t make any sense. He shouldn’t be wasting time, except that sitting here had never really been wasting time.

The water and the peace that could be found on a spit of dock on a little island called Hurricane Bay were always good for rational thinking and reasoning.

And remembering.

The long summer day was ending; at last the sun was beginning to set. This was the time when the world was most beautiful. He remembered, thinking as a kid, that his dad was just crazy. They’d had no air-conditioning, but his father had pointed out that the breeze always came through. The house had seemed a shack, but his dad had pointed out that they didn’t need any art on the walls, because they had the most beautiful vista anyone could ever imagine, every night. All they had to do was sit on the rustic porch and watch the sun set, watch as colors came out over the Atlantic, pinks, reds, golds, yellows. Sometimes the skies would be clear and the blue would turn slowly to strange pastels, then indigo, and then night would fall. Sometimes there would be clouds in the sky, and they would become a billowy cobalt before turning into dancing shadows against the moon. When storms came, it was just as beautiful, if different. The lightning would strike the water like bolts cast down by a furious god, and the trees would whip and bend in the wind.

Everything his father had said was true. Now he knew. Just as he knew that no meal in the world was better than fresh fish, just pulled from the sea and thrown on the grill. Odd that he would come to love this place, Hurricane Bay, when he had been so blind to its charms as a kid. Back then, he’d had no idea how great it was to own a private island.

He was glad he’d had the time to let his dad know how much he appreciated the place and had come to love it.

Sitting on the wooden dock, staring out over the water, he closed his eyes and heard her voice again.

CHAPTER 2

“Help me, Dane.”

Sheila’s voice was an echo in his head. A ghostly reproach.

He didn’t need to keep hearing it. He’d already damned himself a hundred times over.

He’d been sitting here that night, just as he was now, the last time he’d seen Sheila arrive at Hurricane Bay.

But before that…

Would things have been different if he hadn’t seen her in action just that day?

He’d been at the Sea Shanty just before she had come over. He’d been drinking soda water with lime, discussing surveillance cameras with Nate. Nothing big had happened. Nate thought that maybe one of his bartenders had decided he wasn’t quite making it on tips and was helping himself to the till. Dane didn’t intend to work for Nate, and he had no intention of charging for the advice he gave. Sheila had been there, too. She came almost every afternoon at about five.

She never bought her own drinks.

Maybe she hadn’t known he was there. Maybe she had known and hadn’t cared. Once upon a time, way back when, he and Sheila had been something of a twosome. But he had to admit, he’d never been in love with her. From the time he had been a little kid, he’d had a path in mind for himself, a plan for his life. A lot of that had come from Mr. Cunningham and Joe, but whatever the reason, his future had been the burning essence in his mind.

He hadn’t wanted to wind up a fisherman in Key Largo, hoping for a catch, dodging the tourists, sucking up to the tourists, watching restaurant managers come and go.

If anything, he’d been determined he was going to own the restaurants.

And Sheila…

Well, at one time she might have loved him in her way. But she’d been just as intent on her own path. She’d wanted out. And getting out had meant more to Sheila than attaching herself to a man with no specific prospects, even if he had ambition. She’d spent her high school years sizing up the tourists and the weekenders—Floridians who usually lived fairly close to Key Largo, where they kept condos or vacation homes, and left their prestigious jobs in the city on Friday after work and returned Sunday night, ready to go back to work on Monday morning.

But he’d always thought he was her friend. They’d had their occasional thing together, even after their passionate breakup way back when. But not in the last few years. Not since he’d finished his military obligations, settled in the St. Augustine area, opened Whitelaw Investigations…and fallen in love with Kathy Malkovich.

He’d seen Sheila a few times since he’d retreated back home. Only with other friends, mostly, or sitting around the bar. She’d even shown up at his place once with Nate when they’d made a major dolphin fish haul a few weeks back and barbecued it on the grill at his place. Because of their past history, people were making more of it than it had been.

Nate had talked about Sheila’s current activities, then cut himself off, remembering that she and Dane had once been more than friends. The usual guy talk had sounded too coarse, even for Nate.

So he should have known. Sheila had always been a flirt. And she was soundly of the opinion that most people fell out of love in life, and that some guys were good in bed and some guys weren’t, so going to bed with a man because he could offer her something was in no way a sin. Look at the jerks most women slept with because they thought they were in love, or thought the guy was decent, she always said.

Sheila gave new meaning to the term “jaded.”

That afternoon, though, just a week ago, he had really seen her in action for the first time. Seen her work her “magic” at the bar.

So he was a little jaded himself. Not exactly sunk in despair, but then again, not ready to go out and tackle the world. And when he had watched Sheila, he’d experienced some strange sensations. Relief, for one. He was thankful they’d never gotten serious or—God forbid—married each other. He felt sorrow, too, remembering the kid she had been. And he had also felt a bit of disgust, wondering what the hell she was doing. There she was, a beautiful woman, doing things she didn’t need to do. She was young, with the world in front of her, and she had seemed to be on the path of self-destruction.

Her sole purpose was apparent from the minute she climbed on a bar stool next to a guy. First there had been the middle-aged Hispanic man sporting the loud jewelry. Heavy gold chains had hung around his neck, and his fingers had been bedecked with gold and diamonds. Sheila had crawled atop a chair with a cigarette, asking for a light. They’d started talking, and he’d bought her a drink, but he hadn’t stayed long. There had been a woman waiting for him out on the patio. Before he’d left, however, Sheila had written something on a piece of paper and given it to him.

Then there had been the younger guy, maybe twenty-five. His cutoffs had carried a designer label, and his sandals were straight from the pages of GQ. His T-shirt had sported a label, as well—not just designer but top designer. Even if he ever got as rich as Croesus, Dane couldn’t see spending that kind of money on a T-shirt.

Sheila had been studying her drink when the young guy had walked in. She must have had some kind of natural radar, because she’d turned around immediately, seen her new quarry, squashed out her cigarette and knocked another out of the pack in front of her.

They’d talked for a long time. And again Sheila had given him her number.

No one had appealed to Sheila after that. She’d noticed Dane at the back of the bar by then. She might have colored just a little, seeing him there. Then she’d tossed her long dark hair and come over.

“So…it’s the long-lost home boy nursing his woes at the shanty bar, huh?”

“Hi, Sheila.”

She’d lit her own cigarette then and tapped her matches on the bar.

“See, old flame, men do still find me attractive,” she’d said softly.

“Sheila, you’re beautiful, and you know it.”

That had brought a smile to her lips. “But it isn’t enough, is it?”

He remembered lifting his hands with a certain aggravation. “It depends on what you want. What the hell are you doing?”

She looked at him. “Do you remember when you liked me, Dane?”

“Sheila, I still like you. You’re a friend.”

That brought another smile. “You never loved me.”

That seemed out of the blue. “You never loved me.”

She looked ahead. “We both wanted to get out, and here we are again. You loved her, though, huh? That woman in St. Augustine.”

He didn’t answer because she didn’t allow him to, rushing back in. “What’s wrong with me, Dane?”

“Sheila, there’s nothing wrong with you. We just didn’t have the commitment, the shared interests, the right whatever.”

She shook her head, staring ahead. “I couldn’t stay with Larry, either. Why not? I should have. It’s like I’m always looking for…I don’t know.” She stared at him. “Hey, want to sleep with me?”

“Sheila—”

“Oh, yeah. I heard. You’re still in mourning. I wish you weren’t. I’d feel…secure if I were with you.”

“Sheila, feeling secure isn’t a reason to sleep with a guy. Any more than money is.”

She turned to look at him with amusement. “Money is as good a reason as any. Come on, Dane, aren’t you feeling just a bit of the old magic?” She reached out beneath the bar, long delicate fingers light on his thigh, then zeroing in.

Actually it was the little jump of arousal he’d felt that had stirred his temper. He’d gripped her fingers, pushing her hand aside, and risen. “No,” he told her angrily—and too loudly.

“Dane, don’t leave me.”

“Sheila, I can’t leave you if I’m not with you.”

He’d turned and left the bar. Nate had seen them, of course. He hadn’t known what they were saying, but since he was at the end of the bar, he must have heard the anger in Dane’s voice. And damn if Cindy Greeley hadn’t been there, too, that day—he hadn’t seen her until then, but there she was, with Nate at the end of the bar, showing him the new T-shirts she’d designed for his bar.

He’d said hi to Cindy and gone on.

That night Sheila had shown up at his house. She’d told him not to worry, she was just stopping by, seeing what he was up to. They were still friends, right?

“Friends, Sheila,” he had told her, and let her in.

At first she had been so casual.

She’d asked him about what had brought him back. He’d told her it had just been time to come home. She hadn’t believed him, but she had pretended to.

“I think, for you, everything changed with Joe.”

He hadn’t answered that. Instead he’d said, “Sheila, what the hell are you doing?”

“Getting by. I should marry some nice guy and settle down. Problem is, there aren’t that many nice guys out there. Besides, you knew me when I was young and sweet and innocent. Okay, I was never innocent. But I was a little sweet.”

“You were married to Larry Miller. There’s a nice guy.”

“A boring guy, I’m afraid. I like excitement. Or maybe every nice guy is a boring guy. I don’t know. You know what, Dane? Men just don’t come in the kind that I really want to keep. Actually, I may be a real voice for my sex.”

“Oh?”

Sheila had laughed, and looked stunning. “Yeah. Guys are usually ratty to women. They fall in love…lust first, most of the time. They marry, they cheat.”

“Not all of them. I’d say it’s pretty even.”

“Not on your life! Trust me. Men always seem to need someone to bolster their egos. Some guy told me once that it’s just natural. You know, survival of the species. Long ago, guys had to sow their seed, just like lions, or some shit like that. Mate all they could so their DNA would go on and on. Instinctively they’re still that way—except, of course, that they don’t really want to procreate anymore, because on the not so instinctive side, something resembling brains kicks in and they don’t want to pay child support. But some guys are innately bad, maybe not even in a way they can help. Look at all the old geezers looking for trophy wives. Sixty-, seventy-, even eighty-year-olds throwing out wives they’ve had for years, finding some beach bunny and patting themselves on the back for having a kid when they’re members of AARP. Makes ’em macho.”

“Sheila, you know, I have friends who have been left by their wives, taken to the cleaners big time by them.”

“See, there you go. Defending your sex.”

“I’m not trying to defend anyone. I just think that people in general aren’t always so great to others. I’ve seen plenty of men behave like real assholes. I’ve seen some women who are just as cold and calculating.”

“Different thing,” Sheila said, waving a hand in the air. “Someone should do a study on it. As for me, well, I guess I’ll just go on thinking that I’m standing up for my sex, using guys like paper cups, tossing them out as soon as they get a bit soggy.” She’d looked at him then. “Dane…are you sure…I mean, sometimes, way back when, we’d get together when neither one of us had a steady thing going.”

“Sheila, you’ve got to trust me here. I’m not what you’re looking for. But I will give you a speech, which is what you need. You’re beautiful. You deserve ten times more than you’re giving yourself. Not to mention the fact that your lifestyle is dangerous. There are a bunch of assholes out there, not to mention the fact that these days the world is full of sexually transmitted diseases, some of which can kill you.”

She’d laughed then. “Oh, great! You think I’m infectious. Dane, I’m careful as hell.”

“No, you’re not. If you were, you’d be looking for something more than money.”

“It’s not just money,” she said softly.

“Then…?”

“I told you, I’m making up for all the assholes out there.” She’d leaned against the pillows on the sofa then, watching him with a rueful smile. “I hear you’re in deep mourning over something gone wrong. I can help. I can make you feel better. If only for a night.”

He had to admit, the thought had been tempting. But Sheila couldn’t really give him anything. And there was nothing he could give her.

“No good, Sheila,” he had told her softly.

And still she’d stayed. They’d had some wine, played chess. She was a good player. Then they’d had some more wine. And finally it had been really, really late, and she still hadn’t gotten up to go.

“I wish you’d want me, Dane.”

“Sheila…”

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked for the second time that night.

“Nothing. You’re beautiful. It’s what’s wrong with me, and the fact that I don’t think we’re particularly good for each other.”

Then that smile. “You know what? I don’t sleep with that many guys. I string them along pretty far, but…I like gifts, good food, expensive bottles of wine. I swear, Dane, I’m not diseased or anything. I’m smart and I’m careful, and more selective than it might appear. And I always carry protection. Dane, dammit, I know you’re hurting, but…don’t you ever just get urges, need some kind of relief? I’m perfect for you. I know you don’t love me, and I don’t want anything from you except to be around sometimes…. You can turn off the lights, drink yourself into a stupor, and I won’t mind. And it’s not like it’s something you haven’t done before, a place you haven’t been before.”

She’d made a move for him. Chess pieces had fallen to the floor. And he’d had a lot of wine, a lot of pain, a lot of guilt and self-recrimination, and a lot of longing. Sheila was beautiful. So overtly sexual she was impossible to ignore. Maybe men were nothing more than slightly evolved beasts. She hadn’t been wearing a damn thing beneath her red dress, and she’d made a point of letting him know it.

“Sheila, I’m telling you, it just wouldn’t be right.” But there had been a guttural quality to his voice then.

“I don’t care, Dane. I don’t care. I just want to stay. For one night.” She stood then. With definite talent, she let the red dress fall to the floor. “Call it a mercy fuck,” she pleaded.

He wasn’t sure he could throw her out naked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

It hadn’t occurred to him that she was scared of leaving. Chalk it up to arousal and maybe even a certain ego. Before he knew it, she was on her knees before him. Her eyes were pleading.

And Sheila was good at what she did.

They hadn’t wound up in his bed, but right there, on the couch, where they’d played chess. He’d awakened feeling a dull throbbing in his head. Sex. Like eating food with no taste. Breathing in and out because the lungs did so without the commitment of the conscious mind. He didn’t want to hurt Sheila. They’d both been banged up enough. He didn’t want to talk, either.

Hadn’t needed to.

Sheila had gotten right up, grabbed the red dress and walked to the door, pausing long enough only to look out to make sure it was light. “Thanks,” she’d said, not turning back.

“Hey, my pleasure,” he said lightly, hoping to make them both feel better.

Still, she hadn’t looked back. That was when she had said it.

“Help me, Dane.”

“I’m trying to help you, Sheila. You don’t want to listen to me.”

Then, still with her back to him, “You can’t help it that you don’t love me. I don’t expect you to…. I don’t love you, either…Well, as much as anyone, but…I just…”

Then she’d turned for a minute.

“I need help.”

“Sheila, we can get you some help—”

She’d laughed, cutting him off. “A psychologist for my nympho tendencies?” She shook her head. “You don’t understand. And I can’t…explain.” She had stood in his doorway just a moment longer. In the soft pink light of dawn, he thought he saw a brief look of desperation cross her face.

“I look tough, but…I’m afraid.”

“Jesus, Sheila, then you’ve got to change your lifestyle.” His outburst had brought him to his feet. “Quit picking up strangers and going off with them. Settle down with a different goal in mind, rather than striking a blow against men for all women, or whatever it is you think you’re doing.”

A slow smile had crossed her face. “None of you have ever known just what it was like, being me. And…as for my crusade…Oh, Dane! You just don’t know how fucked up men are.”

And then she’d left.

God, she had needed help! He hadn’t seen, hadn’t known, how much.

It was the last time he had seen her.

Alive.

And now…suddenly, even his palms were sweating. What was the killer going to do next to implicate him?

He had to get to the truth.

Andy Latham lived on the Gulf side of the key.

It was something that had always pleased Kelsey, although she wasn’t sure exactly why. Key Largo wasn’t big enough for her to feel any advantage of distance just because he lived on the other side of US1. But she had never liked Andy Latham, and during all the years when they had been growing up, Sheila had hated her stepfather.

He fished for a living, as many people in Key Largo did. He lived off the main road on a little piece of property that tenaciously clung to the ability to be called land, off a small street that had once been little more than mangrove swamp but had been turned into viable land with fill from the dredging for a nearby hotel harbor that had been built in the late fifties.

It wasn’t more than a ten-minute drive from the duplex to Andy Latham’s house. Once upon a time it had been a pretty decent structure. Back in the fifties, contractors had known the full vengeance of storms. The home had been built well out of concrete block and stucco. It was a small house, two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room and an open back porch that led straight to the dock and Andy’s fishing boat. Kelsey knew the house fairly well because Sheila had lived in it until she had turned seventeen, when she had gotten work at a now defunct seafood restaurant. She had never asked to stay with any of her friends but first had taken a little room at the home of the restaurant owner, then gotten her own apartment on the day she turned eighteen. Kelsey could remember her folks talking about Sheila, saying that they should take her in. But there had been a hesitance in their wanting to do the good deed, and since Sheila had pointedly told Kelsey she wanted to be entirely on her own, she hadn’t pushed the matter.

She wondered now if things might have been different if she had.

Even as she turned off the main road and headed southwest down the poorly kept county road that led to the few scattered houses on the street, the sun seemed to take a sharp drop toward the horizon. There were still some pinks and grays in the sky, which was good, since Latham had no outside lights on, and the front yard was dangerously overgrown with shrubbery and weeds.

So much for it being daylight.

Kelsey couldn’t quite get her little Volvo into the drive, so she parked on the heavily rutted street. Getting out of the car, she wished she had changed into jeans. Twigs and high grass teased her legs as she made her way to the excuse for a front walk, and she was certain that every creepy crawly thing in the brush was making a beeline for her bare legs.

At the door, she knocked, looking at the sky. She reminded herself that she wasn’t afraid of Andy Latham, he was just a scuzz.

“Yeah? What do you want?” Latham demanded, throwing open the door.

The strange thing about Andy Latham was that he wasn’t a bad-looking man. He had been younger than Sheila’s mother by about five years when they had married, Kelsey knew. She reckoned that made him about forty-five now. He was tall, with the lean strength of a man who spent his life occupied in physical labor. When he wasn’t fishing, he worked odd construction jobs and had managed to keep his lean appearance all these years. His face was weathered, like that of many men down here who had spent years outside in the sun. He had keen hazel eyes and a full head of dark hair, only lightly dusted with gray. Tonight, he was dressed decently in jeans that appeared to be both clean and fairly new. He was wearing a polo shirt that also appeared to be clean and even pressed.

“Why, if it isn’t little Kelsey, all grown up,” Latham said before she could speak.

“Hi, Mr. Latham. Yes, it’s Kelsey Cunningham.”

“Come in, come in,” he said, stepping back. Kelsey felt as if he were wearing the look of a spider who had unexpectedly come across a fly already caught it its web.

Looking past him, she could see the interior of the living room. It hadn’t changed much. The old place actually had a coral rock fireplace, and the overstuffed chair in front of it was the same one that had been there as long as Kelsey could remember.

And also just as she had remembered, there were beer cans littering the floor next to it, along with wrappers and leftovers from various fast food chains. Latham had never air-conditioned the place, preferring to leave the back glass doors open to the patio all the time for the breeze. Air-conditioning cost too much money; natural air was cheaper. Many people relied on it when their houses were set in the shade of overgrown trees, taking advantage of the cooler air that came off the water. But in Latham’s case, the open doors didn’t seem to bring in the breeze. The smell of decaying fast food and fish seemed to permeate the house. Flies buzzed around an empty French fry wrapper.

Kelsey didn’t want to set foot inside the house.

“No, no, Mr. Latham, I didn’t come by to bother you. Looks like you’re ready to go out.”

“I am, I am, but there’s always time for an old friend. Come on in. Can I get you something? Beer, or…beer or water, I guess. Aren’t you looking fine, young lady. Well, I guess big city life agrees with you.”

“I have a good job that I like very much,” Kelsey said. “Really, I don’t need to come in, I just came by to ask you about Sheila.”

If she was going to talk to Latham, she was going to have to step inside, Kelsey realized, since he was already walking into the living room.

She entered cautiously, leaving the door open behind her.

Latham had to check two beer cans before finding the one that still had something in it. His back was to her as he finished off the contents and stared into the fireplace.

“Mr. Latham, I was just wondering if, by any chance, you knew where Sheila was.”

He turned to face her then, hands on his hips, staring at her.

“Why? What has the little tramp done now?”

“She hasn’t done anything, Mr. Latham. She was supposed to meet me down here, but she hasn’t shown up since I’ve arrived. We were supposed to meet yesterday at lunchtime. She hasn’t been home, and it seems no one has seen her in a week.”

To her amazement, he started to laugh.

“She’s only been missing a week, and you’re worried?”

“We had plans, Mr. Latham.”

He looked her up and down for a long moment. “You can call me Andy, you know. You’re an adult, all grown up.”

“Yes,” Kelsey said politely. “But since you’ll always be Sheila’s stepdad to me, it’s just more comfortable to call you Mr. Latham.”

Kelsey didn’t know why it seemed imperative to keep as close to the door as she could, but it did.

Latham started shaking his head as if he were looking at one of the craziest people on earth. Then he laughed again, a sound with no amusement. “Well, missy, I can promise you—I’m the last person Sheila would come to and report her whereabouts. Raised her when her ma up and died on me, and what the hell did I get for it? A slap in the face and a kick in the ass. She never once thanked me for keeping her after her ma died. Never realized that I hadn’t adopted her, that I didn’t owe her squat, that I put myself out to keep her in clothes and put food in her mouth. From the time she was ten years old, she was a little bitch, hassling me for the way I lived, knocking me for not making enough money. She hightailed it out of here the minute she could. And she only comes back when she wants money.”

Despite her unease, Kelsey felt compelled to defend her friend. “If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Latham, Sheila’s mother left money to you for the express purpose of raising Sheila. And I believe there are also several joint trust accounts.”

“Little wiseass, aren’t you, girl? The whole lot of your generation, not a bone of gratitude in you. What do you think it costs to keep a kid in school? Go to the doctor, the dentist, buy books, paper, clothes. Hell, her mother couldn’t have left enough money for what Sheila has cost me. I don’t give a damn whether I ever hear from her again or not.”

“But she has to keep in touch with you, because of the money,” Kelsey persisted.

Latham took a step toward her.

Out on the streets, she thought, he wouldn’t have scared her. If she hadn’t known him, he might even have appeared to be a decent looking and friendly kind of fellow. An all-around American male, the type to watch football on a Sunday afternoon, play armchair quarterback and show up for work on Monday morning to talk over the game with the guys.

Except that he smelled a little like fish.

But she did know him. She knew he had taken a belt to Sheila several times when she had lived at home.

And he made her nervous as hell.

She took a backward step toward the door.

“Look, I’m really worried about Sheila,” Kelsey said. “If you do hear anything from her, anything at all, please have her get in touch with me right away.”

“And where would that be, missy?” he asked. He was walking toward her again. She had the strangest sensation that if he touched her, she would somehow be marked for life. The remaining light outside had faded. The living room was lit by one weak bulb in a lamp with no shade. The pale light fell on the carcasses of mounted fish on the wall, and the head and neck of a tiny key deer with glassy eyes.

“Just tell Sheila to get ahold of me if you hear from her. She’ll know where I am.”

“You’re staying out at her place, eh?”

“Mr. Latham, you did raise Sheila. You must have some feelings for her.”

“Yeah, I hate the little bitch.”

“I’m worried, and she’s missing. And the police will be around to talk to you,” Kelsey said, her sense of both uneasiness and indignation rising within her.

“The cops?” Latham said, then he repeated the words, his voice seeming to rise to a roar. “The cops! You called the cops on me because that little twit of a girl has gone off with some poor Joe she intends to milk for all he’s worth?”

At that point he was almost upon her. Dignity and courtesy be damned, Kelsey was getting out. She turned and headed for the door. She heard him following after her. She felt his breathing.

His hand clamped down on her shoulder. She almost screamed as he spun her around. “Don’t you go causing trouble for me, you hear? You mark my words—Sheila is off with some man—a fool with money, with any luck. Getting the police involved is just going to get her into trouble. Maybe she’ll even see some jail time, understand? Don’t go getting the cops involved with Sheila and me. Don’t you do it over that riffraff girl!”

He had powerful fingers. They were digging into her shoulder. His face was taut with tension, and his eyes had a hard yellow gleam about them.

The stench of fish wafted over her.

“Let go of my shoulder.”

He smiled. The man had amazingly good teeth. Very white. It could have been a good smile, but instead it was full of menace and pleasure at the fear he was sensing in her.

“You came to my house to throw accusations in my face, little lady,” he said quietly, not releasing her.

“Accusations?” Kelsey said. “I didn’t accuse you of anything. I asked you if you had seen Sheila, and if you could tell her I’m looking for her if you do see her.”

“If you didn’t accuse me of anything, why are you calling the cops on me?”

His grasp had a definite biting quality. He was strong, or, at least, stronger than she was.

Cindy had been right. She shouldn’t have come here. Alone. At night.

Alone at any time, she thought.

She wanted to remain calm and rational; she also wanted to scream and jerk away from him. She tried to remember all the movies she had seen, all the programs she had watched about dealing with dangerous situations. Don’t show fear? Or scream like blue blazes, push away with all her strength and run like the wind?

She didn’t have to make a decision. She heard the slamming of a car door and a man’s voice. “Hey, what’s going on there?”

Latham’s hand fell from her shoulder. They both recognized the voice. Latham shook his head with disgust, his eyes moving from the newcomer back to Kelsey once again. “There he is, the big military man, ready to knock my lights out,” he said. “I wasn’t about to hurt you, little girl. And you want to know where Sheila is? Ask her good buddy, the half-breed coming up the walk.”

She’d known from hearing him, without turning, that Dane Whitelaw had arrived. She’d been relieved.

But Latham’s words gave her a chill.

She turned, Latham’s words echoing in her mind. “You want to know where Sheila is? Ask her good buddy, the half-breed coming up the walk.”

Dane was coming up the path. He wasn’t looking at Kelsey; he was staring at Latham.

His hair was combed back, freshly washed, a little long at the collar, but off his face now. He was in khakis and a short-sleeved blue tailored shirt. Dane wasn’t exactly a half-breed. His grandfather had been a Miccosukee Indian who had married a Swedish tourist. The two had set up shop in the Keys, died together in an automobile accident and left his father with ownership of Hurricane Bay. His dad had made a career out of the military, retired, turned to fishing off his peaceful property for an extra income, and then married Mary Smith, a woman who could claim ancestors all the way back to the Mayflower. Kelsey could just barely remember Dane’s mother. She had welcomed every kid in the world into their house. She had been quick to laugh, to entertain, to love children. She had wanted twenty, she had told them once. At least a dozen little sisters and brothers for Dane. But both she and Dane’s father had married late in life, and complications had set in when she’d finally gotten pregnant again just before Dane’s tenth birthday. She had died months before the baby was due. Dane’s father had never remarried. He had always been a wonderful man when the kids were around, but he had seldom left his own little island, except to sell his catch.

Dane Whitelaw seemed to have inherited the best to be had from his background. He had dark eyes, a chiseled face with slightly broad cheekbones, dark-wheat-colored hair that was always sun-bleached to a lighter shade, and the height and stance of a Viking. She had adored him growing up. He’d been her brother’s best friend. But then Joe had been killed, and their little world had changed for everyone.

Dane reached the open doorway, still staring pointedly at Andy Latham. His dark gaze had never wavered once.

“What the hell are you doing here, Whitelaw?” Latham asked.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Dane said, an obvious lie. There was nothing in the immediate neighborhood that could have drawn him.

“You’re trespassing on my property.”

“Don’t worry. I’m getting off it.” He stared at Kelsey.

She was tempted to stay just because she didn’t want Dane helping her, not when he was top on her list of…well, not suspects, but highly suspicious people. And not when he had been such an ass that afternoon. Maybe she had approached him badly. But he should have cared. He should at least have frowned with worry and tried to say something good about Sheila.

Then again, maybe she just disliked Dane because of what had happened after Joe had died.

“Kelsey, were you staying?” Dane asked when she didn’t move.

“No, I have a dinner engagement,” she said.

She turned to walk down the overgrown path, certain this time that creepy things were touching her flesh when the overgrown brush swept over her legs.

She reached her own car. Dane was right behind her, Andy Latham still standing at his door. Dane waited until she had gotten in the driver’s seat, closed her door and started the engine.

Then he walked to his own car, a Jeep with oversize tires. Necessary, she knew, for living out on Hurricane Bay. The road to the little island was private, not state or county. Dane’s grandfather had built it; his father had improved it. Now Dane kept it up. It still wasn’t much of a road. During a heavy rain season or after a storm, it was often underwater, sometimes so deep that the only way on or off the island was by boat.

Dane started up his car but didn’t start moving until she did. She drove away with Dane just a short distance behind her.

In the rearview mirror, she could see that Latham was still standing in his doorway. Watching.

Andy Latham muttered as he watched the cars go. Then he walked back into his house, cursing his stepdaughter and her friends. In the kitchen, he reached into the refrigerator for another beer. There was a big fat palmetto bug, a winged cockroach, sitting right next to his beer, waving his antennae.

He cursed the cockroach and reached for the can, then splatted it down on the roach before the filthy creature had a chance to move.

He thought about cleaning the carcass out of the refrigerator, but it seemed like too much of a project for the moment. He hadn’t really wanted another beer; he’d wanted to get going. He liked nightlife. No, he loved nightlife. Nightlife took him away from his hell of an existence and made him feel like a man. He’d been ready to go when Sheila’s little buddy had shown up. Kelsey.

Drinking his beer, he decided to make a pit stop. In the mirror over the sink, he surveyed his features. Good. He was still looking pretty good. He really wasn’t old at all; those kids just didn’t realize it, because he had made the mistake of marrying an older woman.

Well, she’d had some money. A virtue. She’d had her faults, as well. A hell of a lot of them. Who would have thought that she considered herself a match for any man?

And worse, who would have thought she’d leave the money tied up in a trust that could only be accessed little by little, and then only by him and Sheila at the same time.

He picked up the comb sitting on the sink and ran it through his hair. The face that greeted him in the mirror pleased him. He had good features and fine eyes. His skin was tanned and creased, but women seemed to like the weathered look. He was built just fine. Not muscle-bound, but tight as piano wire. Sleek, hard-toned. He was in good physical shape. The whole package was still just fine.

Funny. Once upon a time he’d had a thing for older women.

Now he liked them younger.

Yep, that Kelsey was looking darned good. Too bad he’d been saddled with Sheila. The girl had poisoned everyone against him. Hell, if it hadn’t been for Sheila, he might not have known Kelsey at all as a kid. Who knows? She might have let him buy her a drink at a bar.

She might have let him do more.

He tensed, remembering the way she had looked around the house. As if he were lower than a pig.

Lower than the cockroach he had crushed in the refrigerator.

He shrugged. Imagine that. The damned thing had been in the refrigerator. Maybe that was why it had been so easy to kill. Maybe it had already been cold, shaking in its little cockroach boots, frozen right to the spot.

He looked around the bathroom.

Hell, maybe he should get a maid.

Of course, it would have to be someone who wasn’t afraid of cockroaches.

He exited the bathroom, humming to himself. He started to leave the house, then paused and looked around, damning Sheila once again, thinking of the way Kelsey Cunningham had looked around his house. Fuck them both. Fuck them all. Everyone knew that Sheila took off whenever the hell she felt like it. Everyone but Kelsey, coming back here as if she were something special, raising all kinds of trouble.

Still…

He looked around his domain. Strange, once it had been clean. Sheila’s mother had been good for something. She had cooked, too.

But he couldn’t really remember what the place had looked like back then. There had been food in the refrigerator, and not so many beer cans. The cockroach would have died a lot happier if he had come all those years ago.

Now the place was a dump. Nothing but fast-food wrappers and beer cans. So what if the police came? They would probably leave damn quick.

He left the house, not bothering to lock his door. No one ever came out this road. There were only two other houses, and a bunch of mangrove roots and water. Angus Grier lived in the closest house, and he was ninety if he was a day. And the kids who had rented the other place…they were stoned out of their minds most the time. There wasn’t much reason to lock up his place. If a thief came by…well, hell, he was welcome to steal anything in the place.

Because once he drove away from it, Andy Latham knew that he was a different man.

CHAPTER 3

Dane followed Kelsey back to the duplex.

She was probably going to accuse him of stalking her, but he still wanted to see that she got home safely. Besides, he could just knock on Cindy’s door after he made sure Kelsey had gone on into Sheila’s side.

He knew Kelsey was aware that he was following her, but she pretended not to see him as she parked, exited her cranberry Volvo and entered the house. Dane parked the Land Rover and took the steps up to Cindy’s door. As he tapped on it, Cindy appeared at the door to the other half of the duplex, Sheila’s half, now Kelsey’s.

“Dane! Hey, we’re over here.”

“Hey, Cindy.”

He walked across the tiled concrete front porch and greeted Cindy with a quick peck on the cheek. She never changed. Sweet and smart, Cindy always expected the best from everyone. But then, she’d never met with much personal adversity. Both her folks were still living just down the highway. She had two younger sisters and a ten-year-old brother. Her father, a transplanted Yankee, owned one of the largest charter fishing boat companies in the area.

Cindy had called to tell him that Kelsey was on her way out to talk to Andy Latham. Dane hadn’t at all liked the idea of her being out there alone. Of course, he’d known that Kelsey wouldn’t be particularly glad to see him out there—she would hardly think of him as a knight in shining armor—but he’d made tracks to get out there as soon as possible anyway.

“Come on in,” Cindy said. “We were about to have quiche and beer.” She wrinkled her nose. “Reheated quiche and beer. But it’s still good. I can cook. Well, kind of, anyway.”

“Sounds great, Cindy, but I already ate.”

“Come in for a beer, at least. I mean, you’re here, aren’t you?” she demanded, blue eyes wide.

“Sure.” He needed to talk to Kelsey, and it was damn certain she was never going to invite him in.

He followed Cindy into Sheila’s side of the duplex. Kelsey was seated on a bar stool, a plate and a beer in front of her. Her shoes were off, one ankle curled around a leg of the stool. The sunglasses were gone, and he could see her eyes. Blue-green. Like a color that had been plucked right out of a shallow sea on a sunlit day.

He could see that she was surprised and definitely not pleased that Cindy had invited him in.

“Look who’s here,” Cindy said pleasantly.

“Surprise, surprise,” Kelsey murmured.

“You’re sure you don’t want some quiche, Dane?” Cindy asked.

“No, thanks.”

Cindy reached into the fridge and produced a bottle of beer. “But you’ll have a beer with us, right?”

“Sure.”

“Right. He hasn’t had enough to drink today,” Kelsey said.

For a moment Cindy looked as if she was going to try to ignore the obvious hostility between them, then she sighed, putting her hands on her hips. “Hey, kids, we’re all grown-ups here.”

“All right,” Kelsey said. “Hi, Dane. Have a beer. You are all grown up. If you want to spend your life drinking the days away, I guess that’s all right.”

He stared at her and took a long swig from the bottle, ready to tell her that she hadn’t seen him in years, she had no idea of what he did with his days, and she sure as hell had no right to judge him.

“That’s right, Kelsey. If I want to be a drunk, it’s my prerogative.”

“Dane isn’t a drunk, Kelsey,” Cindy said.

“Sorry, then,” Kelsey said. She made a point of yawning. “You know what, guys? I haven’t had much sleep since I got back. Maybe you want to move your little party over to Cindy’s half of the place.”

“Maybe, but not yet,” Dane said. He walked to the counter where she was sitting and set his beer bottle down. She tensed, and for a moment he thought she was going to jump up and try to escape.

But that would mean having to touch him because the way he was standing, at her side, hands on the counter, she would have to push past him to get by.

“So now you want to talk,” she said.

“I’d have been happy to talk earlier—if you hadn’t come on as such a bitch,” he said.

She blinked, and he could hear her teeth clench. “You were drunk, and I was worried. And Nate had just told me that you and Sheila were…that you and Sheila had a big argument the last time he’d seen her, and that she’d told him afterward she was going out to your place. He said you weren’t very nice to her.”

She wasn’t apologizing. She was still accusing him. And she sure as hell wasn’t about to thank him for coming around when she might have been in trouble at Latham’s. Of course, as far as any of them had ever known, Latham was just like a cockroach. Nasty as all hell, and germ-carrying, certainly, but not physically dangerous.

He inhaled a long breath before replying to Kelsey.

“Kelsey, I’m glad that your life is going so great that you feel you can judge everyone else. Although I’m curious as to how you got to be such a good judge of a man’s level of alcohol consumption.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I know you’ve been lying as low as pond scum, Dane, because Sheila told me.”

“She did, did she? Kelsey, you need to listen to me. You haven’t been around, and you don’t know anything about anyone here anymore. What you’ve got is a bunch of hearsay and assumptions. Maybe you don’t like what you think I’ve become, and maybe there’s even some truth to it. But what you’re doing here is dangerous. What do you think you are suddenly? Some kind of a crusader? Leave it alone. Quit running around accusing everyone of doing something to Sheila. You’re going to get yourself into trouble.”

Kelsey stared at him, eyes cool and hostile. “Dane, you didn’t want to talk to me this afternoon, and now you’re suddenly here telling me to keep my nose out of things. This is ridiculous. Apparently I’m the only one who’s really concerned about Sheila. And since I am concerned, my nose is going to be everywhere until I know where she is. And I know you were seeing her.”

“You’re not listening to me. You’re going off half-cocked and making a lot of assumptions. You know I was seeing Sheila because Nate told you so. Sheila hung around the Sea Shanty. So do I. So do Nate and Cindy—Cindy because she keeps up with old friends, Nate because he owns the place. And guess what? Lots of other people around here go there on a regular basis. It’s the in place for the natives. Sheila saw dozens of people at the Sea Shanty. Big deal. But Andy Latham doesn’t go there anymore, because Nate barred him. He got to be a little too obnoxious with some of the women customers. That’s why Cindy called me when she knew you were going to go over and start throwing accusations at Latham.”

Kelsey’s eyes instantly shot toward Cindy with recrimination. Cindy flushed but shrugged, still feeling she had done the right thing.

Kelsey took a sip of her beer. “Latham is a horrible man. We all know it. He’s a filthy, mean bastard—but that’s all. He’s scuzzy, not dangerous.”

“How the hell do you know he isn’t dangerous?” Dane demanded, wishing he weren’t feeling his own temper soar. Kelsey knew he was right; she just wasn’t about to admit it.

“He’s been around for years,” she said, waving a hand as if dismissing his words. “I used to go to that house when I was a kid. So did you, so did Cindy. He yelled, he was rude, and he created an environment no kid should have grown up in, but he never hurt anyone.”

“Really? And here I thought you were Sheila’s great friend. He sure as hell hurt her.”

He had her on that one, and she had the grace to flush. “When he was angry, he beat her a few times with a belt. He’d be arrested for child abuse now, but back then…parents used to spank their children.”

“Strange. Mine never beat me with a belt. And neither did yours. Or Cindy’s.”

“Okay, he’s a horrible man!”

“Listen to what you’re saying. He beat her with a belt.”

“When our folks were in school, the deans used to walk around with big paddles.”

He shook his head, growing angrier, fighting his rising temper and trying to tell himself that Kelsey wasn’t his concern. If she wanted to be a stubborn idiot, there was nothing he could do.

But she was his concern.

He had to keep her from acting like a stubborn idiot. She would understand that—if only he could tell her the truth about Sheila.

But that was one thing he couldn’t do. Kelsey would have his ass in jail so fast his head would spin. And then…

Then there would be nothing he could do.

“Don’t go out there again,” he said, forcing his jaw to unclench and allow him to form words. His voice came out ragged and rough.

Her eyes narrowed further still, and she replied with cool, “who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” dignity.

“Look, Dane, no one around here is really paying any attention to me. Don’t you understand yet? Someone needs to be concerned. No one else is. Therefore, in my opinion, I have to be.”

“It’s not that we’re not concerned,” Cindy murmured.

They both ignored her. Dane spoke firmly. “Don’t go out to Latham’s again.”

“Dammit, Dane!” she said, losing her composure at last, her eyes sizzling, her fingers tightening on her beer bottle. “Don’t come on to me like the gestapo. You’re not my father,” she said.

He caught her eyes then, held them hard. “Let’s hope not,” he said.

She flushed slightly. Her gaze fell from his, and she studied the quiche she’d been pushing around her plate, the grip she had on her beer bottle becoming white-knuckled.

“Kelsey, I’m not trying to come on like anything or act like a father. It simply isn’t a good idea to visit a man like that alone. Okay, maybe I am sounding like the gestapo. But he’s not just mean and nasty, he’s damned scary. Pay attention to me. Don’t go near him again. Please.” He would try anything. It was imperative that she understand Latham was dangerous.

She looked up at him, then looked down again quickly, silent for a moment.

“Kelsey, listen to him. He’s right,” Cindy suddenly pleaded.

Kelsey threw up her hands, almost knocking over her beer bottle, barely catching it. “Okay, look, both of you, I’m sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have gone out there, and I won’t go visiting Latham alone again. Actually I wasn’t planning on visiting him again anyway. It’s not like it was a social call. But the trust funds mean that there’s a connection between Latham and Sheila. I was just hoping that maybe she had said something to him. I want to believe with all my heart that Sheila is just being rude and careless, forgetting all about me. I’d love for someone to tell me she’s on vacation in Switzerland with a wine baron. But I just don’t believe it. And asking Andy Latham if he had seen her, if he knew where she was, seemed like an intelligent move to make. She may hate him, but whether she likes it or not, they’re connected through her mother’s will.”

“He’d be the last person Sheila would go to,” Cindy murmured.

“Yes, but because of the money, she might have told him if she was going to be away, or she might have made an appointment with him regarding the trust or something. Look, he’s never been my favorite person, either. But I still don’t think he’s actually dangerous,” Kelsey said, defending herself.

From somewhere a muted ringing sounded.

“Excuse me,” she said, looking pointedly at Dane. He was still blocking her way. “Cell phone.”

He backed away. Just a hair. She didn’t want to touch him, but she was going to have to brush by him.

She did. She scraped by his taut form. She still carried the aroma of a subtle perfume.

Once past him, she dug into her purse, which she had tossed on the far end of the bar. She glanced at the caller ID and said a cheerful, “Hey!” into the phone. She listened to the voice at the other end, then spoke again. “No, she hasn’t shown yet.” She looked across the kitchen at Cindy and Dane, who were both staring at her. “I’m not alone,” she said into her phone. “Cindy and Dane are here.”

Cindy arched a brow to Dane, but her question was quickly answered.

“Larry says hello to you both,” Kelsey said.

Larry Miller. The weekender who had almost been one of them. Dane had heard that Larry was around now and then, but he hadn’t seen him. Larry’s father had passed away, and his mother had moved somewhere up north. They had sold the condo they kept on the Keys, as well, so even Larry’s little place was gone. Maybe property was what made a place home. He had Hurricane Bay, so perhaps it had been inevitable that he would come back.

Larry hadn’t really been an islander, but he’d still run with their crowd. Good old Larry…

Poor Larry.

He had fallen in love with Sheila, married her, tried to give her the world. A decent guy. Studious, cautious, a talented artist.

“Tell him hello for me,” Cindy said.

“Ditto.”

Kelsey nodded. “Cindy and Dane say hello.” She listened while Larry spoke, staring out the sliding glass door from the kitchen to the patio. “Yeah, I know, everyone is saying the same thing.” She gazed at Cindy and Dane again. Her look said that phone calls should be private. But she didn’t move away, and Dane wasn’t about to be courteous and suggest he and Cindy go somewhere. Kelsey kept talking into her phone. “Maybe she’ll show up, maybe she won’t. Anyway, I’m still going to spend the week at the duplex. With Cindy. Yeah, she’s right next door. Nate’s in good shape—hey, he said he saw you a couple of weeks ago. You didn’t mention that you’d been down here.”

Whatever he said next, Kelsey didn’t answer. “Listen, I’ll call you as soon as I hear from Sheila or find out what she’s up to, okay?”

She touched a button on her phone and returned it to her purse, then slid back up on the bar stool. “Larry is concerned,” she said.

“Poor thing. He never fell out of love, did he?” Cindy said.

“Maybe not,” Kelsey said. “He still cares about Sheila, but he’s certainly gotten over her. He’s been doing all right. He’s great to look at, smart, has a good job. He was dating one of our models. Beautiful girl. But a man can move on and still think of his ex-wife as a special person. He doesn’t get down here that often, but he still thinks of the old gang as his friends. Funny, though. He said he’d been down about a week ago and heard that Sheila was around, but he couldn’t track her down. When I told him what I was doing with my vacation time, all he said was that he’d been down on business and hadn’t had a chance to really do anything or see anyone.”

“Maybe he didn’t think it was worth mentioning. He must have come and gone really quickly. He didn’t see me, either,” Cindy said.

“He said he was down here with a client, just long enough for a drink and dinner,” Kelsey said. “Apparently he saw Nate, though. But Nate didn’t mention to me today that he’d seen Larry. That was strange, don’t you think? Especially when he knows Larry and I work together.” Kelsey had been musing aloud. She didn’t seem to mind that she had spoken in front of Cindy, but when her eyes touched Dane’s, she seemed to stiffen again.

Somehow he had become the enemy. Things hadn’t been right between them for a long time. He hadn’t expected hugs and kisses, but even so, he didn’t want to be the enemy, not when it was so important that she listen to him. But she was in no mood for that now, so he might as well get going.

Dane set down his beer bottle. “Gotta go,” he told Cindy, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“You have to go? It’s early,” Cindy said.

“I have an appointment.”

“A date?” Cindy asked hopefully.

“An appointment,” he repeated.

“At night? Does it have anything to do with an exciting investigation?”

Dane laughed. “Cindy, so far I have surveillance cameras looking for disappearing bait and a few other jobs that are equally mundane.” Well, that was both true and not true. He had taken a job with the principal of a local private school to tail a few of the rich teenagers who seemed to be getting their hands on a fair amount of drugs.

He was pretty sure he had the answer to that one. It had been at the top of his list of jobs to pursue…until this morning.

“Wow, Dane, you’re just full of fire and energy,” Kelsey said. She was speaking to him but studying her beer bottle as she peeled the label from it.

“See you, Kelsey,” he said.

“Sure.” She looked at him at last. “It’s been great.”

“Hey,” Cindy said thoughtfully, as if she were totally oblivious to the last exchange, “you know, I’ve got a great idea, Dane. Why don’t you have us over for a barbecue?”

“Cindy,” Kelsey protested. “That’s rude. We can’t just invite ourselves over. And think about it. Dane likes his mundane lifestyle. I’m sure that’s just what he wants to do. Get out of his lounge chair and cook for a group.”

Dane had the feeling that he could turn into Emeril and Kelsey still wouldn’t want to show up at his place to eat.

But Cindy was persisting. “Remember in the old days, when you and your dad had those great cookouts. Maybe Larry can come down for the weekend, and maybe Sheila will even have shown by then. Nate can get another bartender on and come, and who knows who else might be around.”

“We’ll see, Cindy,” he said.

He was startled when Kelsey suddenly seemed to rouse herself and let go of her hostility. She slid off her bar stool, approaching him, but pausing a distance away. “Actually, Dane, you know, it would be nice if you had a barbecue and had us all over.”

“You want to come visit ye olde town drunk?” he said, staring at her.

Cindy must have felt as if lightning were crackling around her, because she suddenly seemed anxious to get away from the two of them. “I’m going to wash the dishes,” she said.

Kelsey stared at her. “We used paper,” she reminded her.

Cindy gave Kelsey a little shove that almost sent her into Dane. “Look, you two, I don’t know what’s going on here, but good friends are hard to come by. Both of you, shape up. Kelsey, you’re being a real bitch. Walk Dane to the door and tell him you don’t think that he’s a washed-up, inebriated has-been. Go on.”

There was something going on in Kelsey’s ever-calculating little mind, Dane knew, or else she would just have turned away with that air of superiority she could don like a cloak, walk herself into the bedroom, and shut the door.

“I’m being a bitch?” she said.

“Oh, yeah,” Dane said. “Beyond a doubt. You’re being a super bitch.”

“And Dane is Mr. Nice Guy?” she said to Cindy.

“Actually I’ve been damned decent, considering the way you accosted me today.”

“Go on, Kelsey. Walk Dane out.”

“I’m sure Dane knows the way through the living room to the door, but what the heck. Come on, Dane.”

He thought she was going to touch him, take his arm, but she apparently decided against it, crossing her arms over her chest as she walked to the door.

“You should have that barbecue,” she said, opening the front door and leaning against the wall as she waited for him to exit.

He wasn’t sure what the hell she was up to, but he was determined that she understand how dangerous any reckless course of action might be. She might have been unnerved earlier tonight, but she hadn’t been nearly scared enough.

“Kelsey, promise me you’re going to stay away from Andy Latham.”

She shrugged. “I told you both, I was wrong, you were right. I only went to talk to him and find out if he knew anything about Sheila. I’ve talked to him. I have no reason to go back.”

“All right.” He hesitated. “Kelsey, seriously, get your nose out of this.”

Her eyes seemed as opaque as clouds, hooded. “I’m the only one determined to find Sheila. I have to nose around.”

“Look, I’m telling you, I am concerned. I swear to you…” He hesitated for a moment, thinking of the irony. “I swear there is no one more anxious than I am to find Sheila. I have a P.I. firm, Kelsey. Let me do this.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So you do think there’s a reason to worry about Sheila.”

“Let me do the worrying—and the question asking.”

She shrugged. “You’re the P.I. Go for it.”

He started out the door, aggravated and exasperated. He wanted to shake her. Make her understand. He also needed to get the hell out. He had to make that appointment.

“Kelsey…”

“I mean it. Go for it. I’ll even hire you. Is that an inspiration for you? I assume your rates are high, but I can pay them. No slacking off, though. I want her found.”

“Kelsey, I don’t want your money. I told you—I want to find Sheila myself. You stay out of it.”

She didn’t agree that she would. Instead she persisted with her original question. “Are you going to have the barbecue?”

He froze where he was, half out the door. He turned back to her, suddenly realizing just why Kelsey was pushing so hard when he was certain she wanted to be nowhere near him.

“Kelsey, you want to come over and search my place? You don’t need a special occasion for that. Come on over anytime.”

There was the slightest flood of color to her cheeks, but she didn’t flinch.

“If I wanted to search your house, you wouldn’t care?”

“Not in the least.”

“You should still have a barbecue.”

“So you could have lots of help while you searched?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Bye, Kelsey.”

He strode away down the walk.

“What time do you start work in the mornings?” she called after him.

“Whenever the hell I feel like it!” He stopped, turning on his heel, staring at her. “You know…once I rise from my drunken stupor. And I lock my doors when I leave, so you’ll have to call if you want a personal guide while you try to find incriminating evidence against me.”

Kelsey had come out the doorway behind him and was standing on the porch.

He was about to walk away, aware that he would slam his way into his car. Instead he strode back to her so quickly that she didn’t have time to back away.

“What the hell is it, Kelsey? What did I do to you that makes you mistrust me—yet you run out alone in the dark to see a man like Andy Latham?”

He hadn’t touched her—he had managed not to do that. But he stood a breath away from her. He saw the flash of fire in her eyes and the tightness that gripped her from head to toe. He thought she was about to deny that there was any reason at all. But she didn’t.

“You know what you did to me,” she told him. Then she gritted her teeth, turning pale, and it was painfully apparent that she was horrified that the words had come out of her mouth.

“What I did to you?” he repeated. “I didn’t do a damn thing to you, Kelsey. In fact, I should be angry for what you did to me. So that’s what this is all about?”

“This is all about the fact that I came to see Sheila, but she’s nowhere to be seen, and Nate said I should ask you because you had an argument with her and then she took off to your house. And she hasn’t been seen since. And because you could have done anything with your life and you’re spending it drinking yourself into some kind of oblivion in a lounge chair. It’s because there’s something going on, and you’re the only one with the knowledge and the training to deal with it, but instead you’re wasting your time in self-absorbed flagellation.”

“You don’t know anything about me, Kelsey. Nothing at all. Not anymore. Maybe I should have a barbecue. Let you tear up my place while I have friends around. Maybe I shouldn’t trust you alone at my house.”

With that, he made his way to his car. He managed to open the door without ripping it from its hinges and even closed it without slamming it.

In fact, he made it halfway down the block before punching the dashboard.

CHAPTER 4

Jesse Crane was standing out by the dock when Dane returned.

Dane didn’t particularly mind darkness himself, but he kept a floodlight trained on the front and rear entries to the house and the dock. The last thing he wanted was someone stumbling onto his place despite the huge Private Road notice on the turnoff to Hurricane Bay and taking an accidental dive into the water. He’d never had a fear of thieves; the value of Hurricane Bay was in the island itself. Most of what he had that might be considered of value had more of a sentimental worth, though he supposed some of the collections his folks had gathered were good ones.

Still, out on Hurricane Bay, he’d never even locked his doors—until today.

“You’re late,” Jesse called to him.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

“No big deal. I would have watched the TV, except the house is locked.” Jesse was tall and gave the appearance of being lanky. He wasn’t. He was honed to a T. His hair was nearly black, dead straight and worn short. His eyes were a light hazel, almost yellow, and he had a way of looking at a person as if he already knew everything they might be trying to hide. He’d been with the Metro-Dade force until his wife, also a cop, had been killed. At that point, he’d left the force and joined the tribal police.

He was Dane’s second cousin, and he had mixed blood, as well. His just wasn’t quite so complex of a cocktail, as he liked to tell Dane.

“When did you start locking the door?” Jesse asked him.

“Today. I’m setting up surveillance cameras, too.”

“Your chosen line of work is getting to you?” Jesse said.

“Maybe. Come on in.”

Dane opened the screen door, then unlocked the old Dade County pine door behind it. Both men stepped in.

The house was concrete block and stucco and Dade County pine, built against the storms that periodically ravaged the area. It had withstood a great deal, even being pounded by hurricanes, because the construction was so strong. The man who had owned the island before Dane’s grandfather had been blown out even before they’d started naming storms. All he had wanted to do was unload the place; he’d called it Hurricane Bay, and the name had stuck. It was Dane’s grandfather who’d built the house. Dade County pine was at a premium because it was almost impossible to acquire anymore. It repelled termites and stood strong against most of the dangers inherent in a subtropical climate. The living room was completely paneled with it. The house boasted two coral rock fireplaces, one in the master bedroom and the other in the living room. A large mantel had also been chiseled to match, and on it stood one of his father’s great treasures, a stuffed ’gator called Big Tom in life, and—since the taxidermist had been excellent at his craft—for posterity. His father had caught the alligator, which had been terrorizing a residential canal in Homestead. The reptile hadn’t gotten hold of any children, but he had managed to consume two poodles and a too-curious cat before being taken down.

A soft leather sofa, matching love seat and two armchairs rounded out the grouping in front of the fireplace. The walls boasted some fine Audubon prints and interesting family photos.

“Want a beer?” Dane asked as they entered.

“Sure.”

Jesse followed Dane through the dining room. The antique claw-foot dining table held Dane’s computer and stacks of papers. They passed through the dining room to the kitchen, which fronted the house, along with the living and dining rooms. Way back when, his grandfather had figured people would want to be outside, so both the dining room and kitchen had large windows that could be opened up to the porch, where there were outside counters and rough wood tables. The back of the house faced both the dock and the little spit of man-made beach, so the floor plan made it easy to be outside most of the time.

Jesse leaned against the kitchen counter, looking out at the night and the water as Dane went into the refrigerator.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been out here,” Jesse said, accepting the can Dane handed him.

“Yeah?”

“Of course, you haven’t been back all that long.”

“Almost six months.”

Jesse didn’t comment. He knew what had brought Dane back. There was no need to talk about it.

“Okay, so what’s going on?” Jesse asked. “Do I have a stray tribal member harassing the tourists? Is some local all pissed off because he lost big at bingo or something?”

Dane shook his head, thinking that his second cousin’s dry expectations might have amused him at a different time.

“No, actually, I need to ask you about something.”

“Shoot.”

“A couple of months back, you found a strangling victim out in the Glades.”

Jesse frowned and nodded. “Yeah, I found the body,” he said. He studied his beer can. Then he looked at Dane again, his forehead still furrowed. “I’ve seen a hell of a lot, between Miami-Dade and just living out where fools can go astray. But…hell. That was bad.”

“Mind telling me about it?”

“I think I talked to you at the time.”

“You did, but I’d like to hear about it again.”

“You have a reason.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Are you planning on sharing it with me.”

“Soon. I just need a little time.”

“You haven’t found another body?”

“No.”

Jesse studied him for a long moment but accepted the fact that Dane would tell him everything when he was ready.

“I think it was just about three months ago now. The first body was found three months before that, up in Broward County.”

“And the Miami-Dade boys and Broward homicide think it was the same killer?”

Jesse inclined his head. “Looks like it. It’s a tough case. Both bodies were found in such a bad state of decomposition, it’s been a bitch for forensics.”

“That’s why it was so bad when you found the girl?”

“She’d been in the water almost two weeks, in a canal in the Everglades. I don’t really need to tell you what that means, but suffice it to say that nature takes its course.”

“So you think she was thrown into the canal by someone who knew the Everglades?”

“Not necessarily. There are a few pretty decent roads leading off of the Tamiami Trail. And the day I discovered her was…a Tuesday. Right after those torrential rains we had when it was supposed to be dry season. A Mack truck could have driven back there and the tire prints would have been washed out. Of course, a Mack truck would have sunk in the swamp, but you know what I mean. In that area, after heavy rains…you’re not going to find anything resembling a print or a track. And since the body was in the water, tangled up in some tree roots, there wasn’t even a way to tell exactly where it had gone in, since it might have traveled with the current.”

“From what you told me at the time, and what I read in the paper,” Dane said, “they knew she’d been strangled with a necktie, because it was still around her throat.”

“Right. And it was a tie manufactured by the thousands, available in any department store in any state.”

“Anything else?”

“She was naked, except for the tie. That’s about it.”

“Did you notice anything in particular when you found her?”

“Yeah, that she was dead. I didn’t need to feel for a pulse. And where I found her…it’s in an area that might be considered reservation land and might be counted as county. It’s not one of those places anyone really wants to fight over. I roped off the scene where I found her and called in the Miami-Dade homicide guys. Specialists. She wasn’t one of ours.”

“You knew that from seeing the body?”

“I couldn’t even have guaranteed you that she was a she from seeing the body,” Jesse said.

“Then…”

“I’d have known if we’d been missing anyone,” Jesse said. “We’re one damned small tribe out there, you know. Less than five hundred. They pretty well wiped out the big numbers during the Indian wars and relocation. Bingo and the casino have been our best revenge, you know.”

“They did identify her, right?”

“Cherie Madsen. Twenty-three, a dancer at a Miami strip club. She’d been a missing person at the time, and she was identified by her dental records.”

“And did the police have any leads?”

“Sure, they had leads, but no real suspects. They traced every name they could find for the night she disappeared, but lots of guys who go to strip clubs use cash and aren’t necessarily regulars. They talked to all her old boyfriends, same as they talked to everyone about the murder in Broward County. The first girl was found in a canal off I-595. Same thing—she was in the water at least a couple of weeks before she was discovered. Strangled, tie around her neck. There had been rain that time, too. The body had probably traveled. The girl was naked, and once again the tie could have been bought anywhere. No way to get any prints. The girl hadn’t scratched her attacker, so there were no skin cells beneath her nails, nothing. I have a friend in homicide at the Broward sheriff’s department, if you want to talk to him further about the case. And you know the guy handling the case for Miami-Dade. It’s Hector Hernandez.”

“Yes, I know him. I’ve known him for years. Big-time fisherman, down here a lot. He’s a good cop.”

“Yeah, he’s definitely a good cop. He can help you more than I can, since you’re apparently after something. I kept up with the case some, since I found one of the victims,” Jesse said quietly. “But not being Miami-Dade homicide anymore, I don’t have the same access to the experts. And it’s not my case anymore, anyway. You know how small the Miccosukee force is. Something like this, Miami-Dade comes in.”

“Did you hear anything about a psychological profile?”

Jesse nodded again, taking a long swallow from his can. “The cops in both counties got together and asked the FBI to give them a hand with the profiling, and they brought in an expert who has been pretty right on with each case he’s profiled that has been solved. White male, twenty-five to forty-five, has a day job, maybe a wife and family, maybe not. Even though the second girl was found out in the Everglades, the profiler is certain the killer is a white male. Someone who knows the area and may even know what happens to a body in the water. He probably looks decent, maybe he’s even good-looking, and he may have a certain charisma. He’s an organized killer. Nothing is left to chance. He’s smart enough to keep his prints off any traceable materials, use a condom and dump the bodies where nature will take care of the rest. There might be two different killers, one copycatting the other, but the homicide guys don’t think so. They kept a few details about the first body secret, and those same details were also consistent with the second victim.” Jesse shrugged, taking another long swallow from his beer can. “In private, of course, the homicide guys admit to having just about nothing to follow up on. Both girls were strippers. They’ve questioned every man they could get a lead on who was at either club the night the girl was last seen. They’ve questioned family and old boyfriends. They’ve looked for witnesses. They don’t have prints, fibers, tire tracks or anything else. They haven’t given up, but they’ve followed every lead they had, and the trail hasn’t gotten them very far. It would be bull to suggest they’re not hot on it because of what the girls did for a living. They’re just working with nothing.”

“I never suggested they weren’t working every angle.”

“You didn’t, but some guy wrote it up in the paper that way.”

“Was he questioned?”

“You bet. He was just some jerk who’s down on the police. He writes up every scrap of corruption he can get his hands on. He tried to suggest years ago that the cops didn’t really give a rat’s ass when a psycho was killing hookers on Eighth Street. Then the cops cornered the killer and he had to eat his words. But there were witnesses on that case. At least they had the make and color of the car to go on. They don’t seem to have a damned thing this time. Then there was the guy a while back who was killing working girls, cutting them up and stuffing them in suitcases. They thought they had it all solved when they were able to trace a guy to the last victim—except she hadn’t been a prostitute, she’d been a lounge singer, and the guy they traced was her ex-boyfriend. Turned out he hadn’t killed the prostitutes, he was just hoping to get away with murder by disposing of the body in the same manner. They caught him, but they still don’t know who did in the other women.”

“Think it could be the same man?”

“With a change in style? I don’t know. I don’t know enough about criminal psychology to answer that, but the guys I know seem to think they’re looking for two different killers. Since they haven’t found new bodies in suitcases in a while, they’re afraid the guy they called the ‘Bag-man’ might have moved on. He was a slasher. This guy strangles. Apparently a different psychology brings about the difference in methods. Hey, you took a lot more classes in criminology than I ever did. You should know.”

Dane shrugged. “It’s not likely that a slasher would become a strangler,” he said. “In this case, though…well, I just hoped you might have some insight. You saw the body in situ and all.”

“I told you—I called in the specialists the minute I found her. I mean the minute. I knew damn well that I didn’t have the manpower or equipment to investigate a crime scene like that, to protect every little hair and fiber that might turn up.” He was quiet for a moment, studying Dane. “So why your renewed interest in the case?” Jesse asked.

“Sheila’s missing,” Dane said. He was comfortable saying that much.

One of Jesse’s dark brows arched against his forehead. “What do you mean, missing? Sheila is always off somewhere, and she always turns up again. Why are you worried and connecting her to this case? She doesn’t fit the victim profile. Or has she started wearing pasties and dancing?”

“No. But…she was running pretty wild.”

“She may still be running wild. Sheila’s taken off for long periods of time before, hasn’t she? I don’t think she came back to Key Largo much before you showed up down here again. And before that, if I understand it right, after her divorce from Larry, she took off for Europe for a while, came back and gambled in Vegas, then hopped around some more before settling into renting that duplex with Cindy. Why would you suspect she might be a victim just because she didn’t share her plans with anyone? Cindy told me that even after they rented the duplex, Sheila often went off for a few nights. Cindy would start getting worried, and then Sheila would suddenly call her from the Bahamas or somewhere to say she was all right.”

“She hasn’t called anyone this time.”

“Still…well, you’re talking about Sheila.”

“Call it a hunch,” Dane said.

Jesse stared at him. “It’s more than a hunch, but, hey, you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

“I’m still dealing with it myself,” Dane said.

“Have you been to the local cops?”

“No, but Kelsey is down. She was supposed to meet Sheila here. And she said something about having gone to the cops.”

“I’m sure they mollified her and filled out a report. And that’s about all you’re going to get. Not that you haven’t got decent guys working the Keys. It’s just that Sheila is a grown woman, a woman known to leave her home for long periods of time without giving notice to those around her. She’s over twenty-one and doesn’t really owe explanations to anyone.”

“She hasn’t just gone off. I have to find—” He paused, wondering if he was being an ass, if he shouldn’t just bring Jesse in on it now. But he wasn’t ready. It was just this morning that he had seen the photograph. “I have to find her myself.”

“If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

“Thanks. How are you doing out there?”

“I’m doing well,” Jesse said, swallowing the rest of his beer. “And I’m going to get going on this one beer. I don’t think it would make for good public relations if a Miccosukee cop was stopped for driving under the influence. Come out and see me sometime. I’ll show you where I found the girl, and I’ll let you see the file I have on the incident.”

“Great. Thanks. I’ll take you up on that.”

“Let me know when you’re coming, so I can be available.”

“You’ve managed to get your hands on a cell phone that can find a signal in the Glades?”

Jesse laughed. “No, not really. But the office can rouse me on the radio if I’m not around.”

“I’ll be out soon.”

Dane walked Jesse out through the front of the house. A broad hallway stretched from the living room to the front foyer, a formal room decorated according to his mother’s era, with a library to the right and a breakfast room to the left directly behind the kitchen. A curving stairway led to the two big bedrooms that took up the entire second floor of the residence.

They all used to slide down the banisters when they’d been kids. It had driven his mother crazy.

Jesse left by the front door, and Dane went along with him as he got into his car—his own, a beige Jeep, and not the patrol car he used when he was on duty. Jesse preferred his Jeep, though he was free to use the patrol car when he chose. There had been some torrential rains lately. Maybe he’d been afraid the road to Hurricane Bay would be badly rutted.

And sometimes he liked his own car when he was off the reservation because he got tired of tourists pointing at him as if he were Tonto on a pinto.

“You know, when you feel you’re ready for my help, I’m there,” Jesse told him.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

Jesse drove away.

Dane started back to the house, but hesitated, looking at the eaves over the porch that led to the roadside, the official entry, of the house. He mentally placed a security camera in the eaves. He’d get on it tomorrow.

He walked back in, heading for his computer. He sat down, keyed in some entries and followed them. For an hour, he gave his attention to every detail he could glean from the news articles he was able to call up online.

After a while, mind churning, he logged off, stretched and walked out back. He stared at the dock and walked around the angular corner that brought him from the dock and the deeper water to the spit of shallows and beach.

That was where she had been.

Rain, surf, sand, time. Nothing. The area looked as peaceful as ever.

He walked back into the house and looked around the living room, feeling a renewed surge of fury, sorrow and anger.

In his own room, he threw open the closet door, looked at the organized rows of clothing. The space where an article was missing. He’d been through it all in his head, over and over. He’d searched the house.

He went over it again.

The entire house, top to bottom. Out back, he trod lightly over the small dock, hopped aboard the Urchin and once again went slowly and minutely over every detail of his boat.

At last he went back to the house, locked both doors and made certain that his .38 special was loaded and beneath his pillow.

Still, sleep eluded him.

Someone had been in his house. And they had done a lot more than eat his porridge or sleep in his bed.

Only one thing had been taken.

He told himself he couldn’t be sure. The house was filled with the accumulation of years.

Still, he knew in his gut that there was definitely one thing missing.

And that one thing could damn him.

Kelsey jerked up and nearly screamed at the sound of loud pounding at her door.

She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but going out to Andy Latham’s had spooked her. And Dane had been acting strangely, too. It was weird how life could change. She had adored him so much once; it had almost been hero worship. Then there had been the years when she kept a polite and civil distance at those few social occasions when they were at the same place at the same time. They’d gone from being best friends to stiff acquaintances. Then they hadn’t seen each other at all for…two years, at least. Since the last time she had seen Sheila.

And now…

She could still hear Sheila’s voice in her mind. She hadn’t seen her in a long time, but she had known Sheila well. Known her when she was angry, caustic and careless of the feelings of others. Known her when she was depressed and down on herself. She knew the way Sheila sounded.

And this time, she had sounded…

Scared.

Kelsey had found herself upset when Dane left. And oddly frightened and unnerved when Cindy left—and she was only on the other side of the wall. Face it, she was actually feeling scared, though of what she didn’t know, when she’d locked the door and gone to bed for the night. And she hadn’t really slept. She’d dozed and awakened, dozed, and awakened again. She hadn’t really been asleep when the knocking had sounded; it had just been so loud and sharp against the dark and quiet that it had startled her.

Bolting to a sitting position in the bed, she took a moment to tell herself that the noise was just someone knocking at the door—and thieves and psychos rarely knocked.

She crawled quickly out of bed. Since her night attire consisted of a long, heavy cotton, one-size-fits-most T-shirt with a frazzled duck saying something about needing coffee, she walked through the darkened house to the front door without a robe, not bothering with slippers, either.

Her mom still got mad at her for walking around without shoes all the time. Even in the Keys. Walking around barefoot and getting your feet dirty made you look like white trash, or so Jennie said.

Amazed at the thoughts that came to mind in a darkened house in the middle of the night, Kelsey reached the door and looked out the peephole. The yellow porch light beamed down on two men: Nate Curry and Larry Miller.

She opened the door, no longer at all frightened, but quizzical and irritated. “What the hell are the two of you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

Nate, a true beach boy, tanned to pure gold, blue-eyed, blond-haired, seemed taken aback. “It’s not the middle of the night. It’s just after two.”

“It’s 2:00 a.m.,” Larry said, his expression somewhat rueful. Even when he was standing in cutoffs in the sand, Larry Miller looked like an executive. His dark brown hair always gave the appearance of a neat, fresh cut. Kelsey didn’t think she’d ever seen him anything but clean-shaven—five-o’clock shadow didn’t dare darken his door. He was dressed casually in a polo shirt and knee-length Dockers, but both were pressed and clean. His boat shoes didn’t have a scuff. The overnight bag he carried, which should have looked as laid-back as a duffle, bore a designer name. He had the profile to fit the image, as well. Features chiseled like a classic Greek statue.

“I don’t close the bar on weeknights until 2:00 a.m.,” Nate said. He stared from Larry to Kelsey. “Okay, so maybe to some people that’s the middle of the night.”

“I was just going to go to a hotel,” Larry said, looking at Kelsey, still apologetic. “But I went by Nate’s. He reminded me that this place has two bedrooms. And if Sheila shows, I can just bunk over with Cindy.”

Kelsey stepped back, letting the men enter. “Larry, you’re more than welcome here—as much as I am, surely. You’ll have to take the spare room. I’m in Sheila’s—I know it sounds silly, but it makes me feel closer to figuring out her moves somehow. But what are you doing down here at all?”

He shrugged. “Two things. You sounded upset on the phone, and I didn’t want you to go getting all worried about Sheila. She’s been known to take off before. Second…I don’t know. You’d been to see Nate, Cindy was here, Dane had come over…I guess I was seized by a rush of nostalgia and decided I had to come down, too. My nostalgia was tempered with reason, of course—I didn’t want you to be alone and upset.”

Nate made his way past both of them. Unlike Larry, he unmistakably belonged here. His tan was straight from the beach, not acquired in any artificial bed. He had a complete ease of manner in cutoffs or swim trunks, a T-shirt or his bare chest. He could dress well when he needed to and looked like a million bucks. But an hour or so with a tie on, and Nate went crazy. He’d been born in the islands, and he loved them. He’d never had the least desire to leave. He’d gone far enough north to get a degree from Florida International University in hotel and restaurant management, just so he could further improve the Sea Shanty. A vacation to Nate meant taking a boat over to the Bahamas. He had no desire to head for the snow and couldn’t care less if he ever saw a country that didn’t offer a good reef for diving, sun, sand and warmth.

“You got coffee, Kelsey?” he asked, heading straight for the kitchen.

“Yes, I have coffee,” she said, glancing at Larry with a shrug and following Nate. “But it’s 2:00 a.m. You’ll wind up staying awake all night.”

“Nope. I never stay awake all night,” Nate assured her. He was already digging through the cabinets.

She walked behind him, caught a prying hand and said, “If you want coffee, let me make decaf, and that way Larry and I can join you.”

“She’s in her mid-twenties, and already her spirit of adventure has departed,” Nate said to Larry, over Kelsey’s head.

“My dislike of lying awake all night unable to sleep has kicked in, that’s all,” Kelsey said. Giving Nate a little push out of the way, she found the decaf and began preparing the coffee.

“You got anything to eat in here?” Larry asked.

“You just came from Nate’s place—why didn’t you order food if you were hungry?” Kelsey asked. She didn’t want to say that she was actually glad to see them, as annoying as they might be. They were giving her a pleasant sense of security.

“His late-night menu doesn’t offer a lot,” Larry said.

“Hey!” Nate protested. “Conch fritters, conch chowder, snapper sandwich, veggie burger, hamburger. What are you expecting at this hour of the night? A sissy fruit and yogurt salad, or some alfalfa sprouts?”

“Your eating habits will give you a heart attack one day,” Larry said. “I can already hear your arteries choking.”

“You’re going to be one of those health freaks who does marathons and drops dead running down the block,” Nate told him.

“You have cereal?” Larry asked Kelsey.

“Raisin bran. Help yourself.” She was measuring coffee.

Larry had no problem helping himself to food. “Ah-ha! She has yogurt and fruit. I knew it.”

“And beer,” Nate said, taking one.

“You just left a bar.”

“I never drink when I’m working my own bar.”

“You just asked me for coffee.”

“The coffee and the beer will cancel each other out.”

Kelsey shook her head and let the coffee perk. She crawled up on a bar stool next to Larry. “What about work? We’re both gone now.”

“Tomorrow is Friday. I left a message with my secretary that I was working at home. I’ll drive back in on Monday sometime,” Larry said. “Don’t worry, I’m a golden boy at work, you know that.”

It was true.

“Um. Let’s hope you’re not so golden that they don’t get the idea to cut my vacation short,” Kelsey told him.

He laughed. “You’re the golden girl. The idea lady. The creative genius. You’re safe.”

“Is that coffee done, Kelsey?” Nate asked.

“Looks like it. Why don’t you pour me some, too?”

Larry jumped when the phone on the counter in front of the coffeepot rang.

“Who the hell would be calling at this hour?” Larry asked.

“Yeah, two o’clock in the morning,” Kelsey murmured. “Answer it.”

Larry did so. Even from where they were sitting, the others could hear Cindy’s voice over the phone. She had recognized Larry’s “Hello?” But she wanted to know what he was doing in Kelsey’s place in the middle of the night.

“Time is relative,” he told her. “Actually when I talked to Kelsey earlier, she sounded a little down, and I thought seeing you and Dane sounded really good, so I decided to play hooky from work and drive on down. For the weekend, at least.”

Cindy said something Kelsey couldn’t quite catch. Larry hung up the phone.

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