Heather Graham - Hurricane Bay

“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.

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.