“Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I just don’t really believe in that kind of thing. I mean, maybe dreams are a reflection of our lives. You don’t want me to be guilty, and since I swear to God I’m not, I’m grateful that you feel that way. But…” He leaned toward her. A mistake. She still smelled faintly of her intoxicating cologne, even though she was drenched in salt water. She seemed to emit an aura of warmth that lured him closer, or made him want to drown in touching her.
He eased back. “Katie, last night was scary. And freezing like that when you’re diving, well, that’s damned scary. Why did you freeze in the water?”
She looked away again and chewed on a thumbnail. She shook her head. “It won’t happen again,” she told him.
“Katie-”
“Sorry. I believe in dreams. And it’s nice. She loved you-in my dream. She knows that you’re innocent-in my dream.”
“She’s dead,” he said bluntly.
“Yes, she is. But I dreamed about her.” She inhaled. “And then I saw her in the water. Not in a bad way. She’s trying to help.”
“What?” David said sharply. What was this? Was she taunting him somehow? Torturing him. Foolish, it was long ago. His heart had hardened.
Not enough, maybe.
She wasn’t taunting him. Maybe it was worse. Maybe she was just crazy. He didn’t want her to be crazy. He cared about her…far too quickly, and far too deeply. He needed to remain rational.
“Katie, I am a big believer in the power of suggestion. And with everything going on…”
He let his voice trail with its own logical suggestion.
“Yes, that’s it, of course. It’s nice, though, that this kind of power of suggestion is a good one-the images I’m seeing in my crazy little suggestible mind seem fond of you, hurt for you.”
“Katie, look, I didn’t mean anything by what I said.”
She looked at her watch, all business all of a sudden. “Oh, Lord, I’m so sorry. It’s gotten so late. We need to head back-I have to get to work. I ruined your diving day. I’m so, so sorry.” She was sincere and contrite. And she didn’t seem to be really angry with him.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m not,” he told her softly. And he did touch her. He touched her cheek, and he met her eyes, and he realized that whatever it was that made a man attracted to one woman and not another, he had just found it in Katie. He wasn’t just attracted. He was entwined.
He stood. “Grab a few of the sandwiches. We’ll eat while we motor back in.”
She nodded; he pulled in the flag and the anchor while she went about pulling food from the ice chest. He chewed on a ham-and-cheese-on-wheat while she stood next to him, facing the wind and the spray while they motored back in to the dock. He slowed his speed and followed the markers until they reached the dock. Katie jumped out with the ties.
“Hey, I’ll start rinsing equipment,” she called to him.
“No, go on. It’s nothing-I’ve got it. Get cleaned up for work,” he told her.
She stood on the dock, looking down at him. Now, she was just in her bikini. It wasn’t a super-string thing or anything like that, just hip-hugging bottoms and a bra top.
Lord, but she was beautifully built. Athletic, curved, lean…
“It’s all right, Katie. You’re working. I’m not. Get going.”
She still stared.
“I’ll see you at O’Hara’s later,” he told her.
She smiled.
It seemed a fire started in his chest. Or his loins. He couldn’t really tell. It was just burning everywhere.
He handed up the rest of her belongings, watched her slide into her oversize shirt and shorts and then turn and start home.
He plowed into the ice chest for a beer, and sat on the chest then for a moment, puzzled, staring after her.
It was still fairly early, afternoon. Daylight. Sun was streaming down on the island.
But he was worried. About Katie.
He forgot the equipment and the boat. Or, they were there, in the back of his mind. But they would wait.
He slid into his deck shoes and leapt to the dock and went racing after her.
The streets were crowded today. Sunday. People were shopping, taking dive-and-snorkel and party boats, Jet Skis and more. They were eating and drinking, and buzzing slowly around on scooters.
He raced from the wharf to Front Street. He could see Katie turning off, right before Two Friends bar and restaurant. He followed.
He reached her in time to see her enter her house and close the door behind her.
He stood still on the street, wondering about her earlier words.
He could see no one who seemed to be paying the least attention to him.
He looked up to the windows in the old Victorian and Deco houses around him. No one seemed to be peeking down from behind shutters or curtains.
And yet, he could swear that he was being watched. He was being watched because…
Katie had been followed.
7
Stella Martin woke in the late afternoon. It was late, and she was startled to have slept so long. She bolted up, looked around and smiled.
The night hadn’t started out well. She’d not been able to resist the temptation to pick a jerk’s pocket up on Duval. She’d seen the commotion that had followed. She’d felt bad for the kid who was accused-so she’d followed him.
She’d seen his brother leave him, taking off with a pathetically sluttish rich girl who’d sauntered out of the Irish bar. So much for heading back to their rooms as they’d been told!
She’d managed to snare the kid-who knew that she’d ripped off the other guy. It was a great joke between them. She laughed with him, got to know him and arranged to meet him back at his hotel room after her shift. The kid had been to the ATM machine and was rich. If not rich, Mommy and Daddy were very well off. The two brothers weren’t even sharing a room.
They’d had a number of drinks. Now he was still sleeping. Snoring. Usually, she hated men who snored. But this kid probably was barely twenty-one. He had long dark hair that fell over his forehead and eyes now as he slept, and he was kind of cute. He’d actually been fun, too. No finesse, but he could fuck like the proverbial bunny. She hadn’t even been tempted to charge him more for going at it again and again. It had been fantastic. Most of the time she was exhausted in an hour, trying to coax a middle-aged drunk asshole into getting it up.
Ah, the kid was cute. Thanks to him and his room, she’d eluded all the cops.
A smile curved into her features. A few of them, she was certain, would always let her go on purpose. They really wouldn’t want to have her talking to them down at the station.
She slipped out of bed and gathered her clothing quickly-she was just as good at dressing quickly as she was at undressing slowly. His wallet was sitting on the dresser, and she had to pause. She wouldn’t take all his money. Just fifty-the kid would still have over a hundred bucks on him. He probably had no idea of how much money he had left anyway. She also took his credit card. She saw his ID. She smiled. Touching. He was an art major at U of M. Silly kids. They came from other states, and they couldn’t wait to get down to the decadence of Duval Street. It was such a bizarre place. She worked one of the strip clubs. Eighteen-year-olds could walk into any strip club. They couldn’t drink, which meant they couldn’t go into a few of the bars that offered karaoke. Stella found that ironic. Kids could watch strippers, but they couldn’t sing. Well, it worked for her.
She counted the money she’d stuffed into her pocket from the night before. It had been so easy to lift the wallet off that big bruiser-and funny, too, to see the idiot attack the guys walking behind him. What an oaf.
But, thanks to the oaf and the kid, she’d had one hell of a good night. She counted her hundreds, smiled and slipped out the door.
Luckily, he’d been staying at one of the inns right off Duval that had a back entrance. There was a stone wall, but it was low, and she scrambled over it quickly. Coming along the sidewalk, she turned onto Duval Street.