A Man to Remember

A Man To Remember

By Mary Tate Engels

Published by Mary Tate Engels at Amazon, all rights reserved.

Copyright 2013, Mary Tate Engels

Cover by www.digitaldonna.com

This eBook is a work of fiction written for your personal enjoyment. It may not be resold or given away. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination.

Bristol Bordeaux, badass babe. . .

No moon lit the dark, misty night as Bristol Bordeaux, extraordinary investigator, slipped along the shadowy waterfront. She stopped for a brief second, listening, and shivered as a cold gust of air whipped around her skirt. Yes, someone was following her. A man, by the way his heels pounded the walkway. She scooted into the next doorway and pressed her slender body flat against the warehouse wall.

She could hear his staccato footsteps pausing, then continuing. Faster. Louder. Closer he came. After her.

Bristol looked around frantically for an escape. The door behind her was locked tight; the water in front of her was black, icy cold, and shark-infested. There was no place to hide. She backed farther into the corner, trying to blend with the shadows. Hoping he wouldn't see her.

Now he was just around the corner from where she stood. Closer. Louder. Faster he came. She could hear his heavy breathing.

Her heart pounded hard, pulsing blood and adrenaline throughout her trembling body. She slipped her hand beneath her skirt and up her leg to her thigh. Her fingers closed around her only weapon. The small .25-caliber Beretta felt cold and hard in her hand. There was no other choice.

She waited for him, now calm and sure.

The man came around the corner. He halted as if sensing she was there. Knowing without even seeing. Then his bulk lunged toward her. There was no time to think!

Instinctively Bristol squeezed the trigger.

The explosion was deafening, and multicolored stars lit the black—

"Alyse!"

Alyse Skye, ordinary citizen, jolted back to the present. To the boat. To Mexico. To Evan. To their endless arguments. Oh, God, why had she come down here with him?

"Alyse, where the hell are you?"

"In here." Adrenaline still pumped through her as she vicariously experienced Bristol Bordeaux's predicament. The fear. The panic. The solution. Alyse took a deep, calming breath.

Evan stepped down into the cabin, his square-jawed countenance angry. Always angry. "You reading that stupid mystery stuff again?"

Alyse withdrew. "Yes." The Breathless Adventures of Bristol Bordeaux fell to the floor, and another argument ensued.

Chapter One

La Paz, Baja Sur, Mexico

He trained his binoculars on her as she moved across the sleek deck of the Skye Command. His lips curled into a ruthless grin' He couldn't let her get to him. He had too much at stake. His life!

He had watched her for two days. Watched them. Ever since he'd been told they were Americans and would be returning to the United States soon. From a distance he had evaluated their yacht and decided it would be perfect for his needs. At this point, though, almost anything would do.

The Skye Command was a thirty-foot coastal cruiser with galley and sleeping quarters below. Accommodating, yet not too big to maneuver. Sleek, yet rugged enough to make it in high seas if necessary. Perfect for his needs.

He had already decided that one member of the young pair would have to go. At first he'd considered paying off the woman and flying her back stateside. But the more he watched them, the more he thought the man would be the easier target. He was arrogant and thoughtless. They argued a lot. And the woman was hot. She could be useful.

The man with the binoculars looked almost golden in the late-afternoon sunlight. Tawny, tousled hair strayed haphazardly in the breeze, and unshaven amber bristles fringed his squared jaw. First glance would label him unkempt, but a closer look would reveal a rugged handsomeness beneath his shabby facade. An unrelenting gleam lit his brown eyes as long, tanned fingers adjusted the dials to focus on her. He continued to watch the couple, but especially focused on her.

The two on the boat had argued, and she left the craft. Again. That seemed to be her way of dealing with the unpleasantness. To walk away.

She wore nothing but a red bikini, small triangles pressed against the most intimate feminine parts of her body. Strings held the crimson triangles together; strings over her bronze shoulders and around the curve of her back; strings tied at the tops of her slim hips. I'd like to grab those strings and jerk!

Her legs were incredibly long. Sexy. Oh, yes, she was a definite turn-on to the golden man with the trained binoculars.

She walked rapidly, angrily, down the wooden pier, her high-heeled sandals clomping on the planks. When she reached the wharf's end, she hopped down to the pure pale sand with a certain grace and agility. The simple action revealed something about her background. She'd had athletic training. Perhaps in dance. Or gymnastics.

She paused long enough to remove each sandal, then marched off barefoot through the sand. At first her strides were long, purposeful, full of the vigor of anger. One hand dangled the shoes while the other swung naturally beside a slender, string-tied hip. Her rear was a pair of taut muscles, well honed and patched with a red triangle.

The golden man raked a hand over his face, lingering to scratch the amber stubble on his chin. Oh, God, the imagination's going wild! Don't let her get to you! Don't forget your purpose.

As she continued to walk, the late afternoon sun dropped lower in the sky, reflecting yellow, then red, then deep purple on her figure. Eventually, the vigor of anger seemed to diminish. Her stride shortened, slowed, then became ambling, a woman relishing the sand beneath her bare feet. In a worshipful stance she faced the western sun, then turned eastward to the stretch of teal water in La Paz Bay. A breeze kicked up, caressing and tossing her dark hair around her shoulders and across her face.

God, how I'd like to touch that!

Slender, exacting fingers fumbled to adjust the focus on the binoculars as she moved farther away. His thoughts were wild. It was crazy to be jealous of the wind. To imagine how her footsteps felt on the warm sand.

The sun's last rays glistened on her shoulders, her back, her hips and legs, massaging away the anger, leaving tight, eager muscles. And frustration. She paused again to look out over the bay. Delaying.

The golden man mentally talked to her. Okay, you've calmed down. Now he'll talk to you, reason with you to do his biding. Now he'll come to you. Can't you see he's a first-class jackass?

As if she could hear the thoughts of the mysterious man who watched her, she glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes settled on the Skye Command as it bobbed in the shallow water at the dock, occasionally bumping against it. She turned back to the bay and kicked up a spray of sand before continuing her aimless trek. The punch was gone from her step, from her body. She seemed defeated.

Now, he thought, focusing again. Go to her now, you jackass! She's ready to listen. Don't you know anything about women?

In response to the golden man's thoughts, the arrogant one she'd argued with left the yacht and headed away from her, toward town. He walked rapidly along the street and entered the first bar he came to.

The rugged golden man focused his binoculars back on the young woman. She stood motionless, her body aimed toward the water, as if drinking in the moment's peace, storing it up for a later time. Just before the sun slid behind the low mountains to the west, it formed a beckoning, shimmering path across the water.

The man who watched felt alternately chilled, hot, then cold again. Strangely he was drawn to the beautiful young woman with a desire as strong as any he'd ever felt. It rocked through him, urging him to go to her.

No! His brain screamed. Leave her alone! There's no time for this.

He looked back at the bar where the arrogant, angry man was just finishing his first drink and ordering another. You cowardly bastard!

Then he realized that this situation could actually make his job easier. Perhaps he could make this lover's estrangement work for him.

The golden man began to move, impelled by a force beyond his ability to resist. Take it easy! You'll ruin everything!

His long golden legs moved him forward in spite of inner objections. Dammit, you're crazy!

He reached the pier and stowed the binoculars in his shoes beneath the end. He shed his shirt and, wearing only khaki shorts, strode barefoot across the same warm sand where her feet had dug. He watched her hungrily as she walked slowly, aimlessly near to the water's edge. Occasionally tiny white waves curled over her feet, then receded quickly, leaving hard, wet sand.

She seemed not to notice how close he was to her.

Familiar, peaceful ocean sounds washed over them. The gentle slap of water against the sand. Distant gulls crying, swooping in, sailing out, wailing in the wind. The tangy smell of salt water and fish hung in the air. Somewhere far away a boat's horn belched.

In his mind, they were all alone in the world, the long-legged woman, the golden man, and the sea.

This is damned dangerous. Don't do it. Turn around now.

But he couldn't. He moved closer still, ignoring the rage beneath his chest. He was close enough now to hear her sigh. With a quick intake of salty air he turned away. Calm down, fool. This could be your biggest mistake.

He shook off the raging doubts and turned back to the bay. And the woman.

But she wasn't in sight.

A moment's panic seized him. Where is she? Gone?

Then he spotted her about twenty feet away, seated on the sand. She'd chosen a gentle protrusion of the beach, a small sandbar peninsula where water curled gently around her on three sides. The sight of her silhouetted against the pinkish sky was breathtaking.

Leave now! Before it's too late!

But his body defied sensible reason. He cleared his throat as he moved beside her on the peninsula.

"I know you're there," she said without looking around.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" He'd never been good at small talk. Or raw beginnings.

"This is my favorite time of day. Sunset." Her voice was crisp but not unpleasant. She had no particular accent or voice cadence. Well educated, probably from California, he deduced quickly from her brief remarks.

"When the water's calm and no storms are brewing, it's soothing this time of day." Sounded dumb, but he didn't want to halt their conversation.

"But it's deceiving."

"Deceiving?" He glanced at her, his brown eyes drinking in her beauty. "How's that?"

"It can be dangerous out there. Wicked."

He gazed down at her back, wondering if life was wicked for her. Dark chestnut hair fanned across the loosely knotted strings at her spine, and her hips nestled in two shallow indentations in the sand. "Anything can be dangerous, I suppose. Even things of beauty."

"Even you?" There was a slight mockery to her voice.

Grunting softly, he heaved his large body down beside her, fighting to keep his eyes straight ahead on the magenta bay, his mind on small talk. Neither was his style when he really wanted a woman. "Me, dangerous? What makes you say that?"

"I've seen you around. You've been following me all the way down the beach," she said accusingly, finally turning her full face toward him for the first time. "Why?"

Seeing her close was jolting, and the golden man felt the inner stirrings of desire for this woman he'd seen only from a distance. Her eyes were surprisingly blue and wide-spaced, giving her an almost innocent look. Almost. Her mouth was generous and naturally crimson. Inviting. Her chestnut-colored hair was windblown with light streaks from the sun. And she wore those damn red patches of a bikini. Hot damn!

He bent his knee so his leg would hide what he couldn't control. He groped for a reason for following her, something he could tell her. "I found you . . . interesting. Enticing."

"Well, you're certainly blunt. If you're looking for a piece of ass, forget."

"Touché, baby. Anyone who dresses like that"—he motioned with one finger—"invites bluntness."

Her sapphire eyes narrowed, daring him to agree. "We're on a beach. Everyone dresses like this."

"Well, they sure don't look like you do in that little thing. I was only being honest. I figure you deserve that much."

"How do you know what I deserve?" She blinked, obviously not expecting that answer.

"I'm like that. Don't you want your man to be honest?"

"You are not my man."

"Not yet," he said with a nod to the boat. "Got to get rid of the jerk first."

"He's not my man, either."

"Then what's he doing hanging around?"

Surprisingly she smiled, her crimson lips spreading slowly. "Yes, I like honesty in a man. And . . . equality."