Ocean Beach (37 page)

The other bedroom was the master, a clean, uncluttered space done in shades of gray that were masculine without veering into macho. Like the living area, it commanded a view of the pool and the water. The king-size bed had been positioned to take advantage of that view. For just a moment Nicole allowed herself to imagine falling asleep beside the agent and waking up beside him here.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“I’m sorry?” she said, startled out of her reverie.

“Are you ready to get out on the boat? I can show you Palm, Hibiscus, and Star Island from the water and then I thought we might anchor to watch the sunset. I’ve got a cooler on board.”

“Sounds great,” she said, following him out the French doors and past the pool to the dock, where a bright red-and-white cigarette-shaped boat was tied up.

Giraldi handed her onto the boat and started up the motors. Quickly and with no wasted movement, he untied the lines and pulled smoothly away from the dock.

The breeze was warm off the water, and when Giraldi pulled off his T-shirt, Nicole did the same, glad she’d worn her bathing suit underneath. The air and sun caressed her bare skin and teased at the ties of her bikini top. She could see her reflection in Giraldi’s sunglasses and saw her hair
tossing in the wind and the smile stretched across her face. She’d been on far larger boats, ones so large they needed captains and crews, and had even cruised the Mediterranean on one famous client’s yacht. But for once she felt no need to act as if she wasn’t impressed. In fact, she felt no need to act at all. Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes so that she could enjoy the weakening rays of the sun and listen to Giraldi’s commentary, his voice pitched to be heard above the boat’s powerful engines. She only opened them when he slowed to point out some of the larger and more interesting homes on Palm Island, including a Spanish-style estate that had once belonged to Al Capone. A name that he admitted was near and dear to any FBI agent’s heart.

It was only when they began their circuit of Star Island that Nikki felt her shoulders tense. “That’s your pal Parker Amherst’s home.” Giraldi gestured toward a dock and a massive expanse of seawall. She could see the tops of palm trees, the ocher-colored stucco, and the gabled roof. “At least for the moment.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Amherst’s father died a year or so ago, and I understand the son is pretty close to broke,” Giraldi replied. “Which may account for his squirrelly behavior.”

And his reluctance to pay the expected retainer. “I take it you went ahead with that background check,” she said.

He shrugged. “I didn’t dig too deep, but information is often the best weapon available. The man’s not used to being without money and I’m not sure how readily he’s going to adapt.”

“About as readily as the dinosaurs, from what I could see,” Nikki said. “I went there intending to walk out with a check and a signed contract.”

“And did you?” Giraldi was watching her carefully. And she happened to know he had a highly effective bullshit-o-meter.

“No,” she admitted. “It was clear we were the only people in that house, which was kind of creepy. When I realized he wasn’t going to be a client, I left.” This was the truth as far as it went; Giraldi did not need to know that she’d practically knocked the front door down in her haste to get out. Or that she’d already spent far more time than she should have wondering if her imagination had upped the creep factor and caused her to overreact.

She watched Giraldi’s face as he turned the boat away from the island and out into the bay. He pushed forward on the throttle and the boat began to pick up speed. After another few turns they were headed directly into the sun, which was turning a reddish gold that glinted off the skyscrapers in downtown Miami.

“At the risk of forcing you to do just the opposite, I hope you’ll keep your distance from Amherst. The guy is under a lot of pressure. Sometimes people under that kind of pressure do really bizarre things.”

“Believe me, I’m finished with Parker Amherst the Fourth,” Nicole said. Or she would be as soon as he got the message and stopped calling her.

Giraldi studied her face for a moment. She imagined the BS-o-meter clanging loudly.

“Seriously, I’m a big girl,” she said, putting the unfocused look in Amherst’s eyes out of her mind. “And I’m used to taking care of myself.”

“I get that,” he said, cutting the engine. “Believe me, I’ve noticed just how grown up you are.” His gaze lingered
for a moment on the bikini top she wore. “You’re also smart and competent. But not everyone is what they seem to be.”

“Duly noted,” she said.

“Okay, then.” The boat drifted out of the channel. “There’s a bottle of white wine in the cooler down below and a corkscrew on the counter. Do you mind pouring us something to drink while I drop anchor?”

She came up on deck with two glasses of wine and joined him on the cushioned back bench, which ran the width of the boat. It was quiet out on the water. They waved to the occasional passing boat and bobbed lazily in each passing wake.

Giraldi slid an arm around her shoulders and she shivered.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

She shook her head, not wanting to admit that it was his touch that had caused her goose bumps.

“Anything new on the search for Max’s son?” he asked.

“Not really. We haven’t even been able to find Millie’s designer friend, Pamela Gentry. Deirdre thought the woman might be able to point her to the artist who created the foyer chandelier. It got broken and needs to be repaired or replaced.” She took a sip of wine and sank further into Giraldi’s side, enjoying the warmth of him. She breathed in the air and Giraldi’s warm, musky scent. “So far we don’t look like particularly gifted sleuths.”

“You do have a lot of other fine qualities,” he said, pulling her closer.

Their gazes remained on the red ball of the sun as it inched toward the water, but they were hyperaware of each other. The sunset was spectacular and the wine first rate,
but it was Joe Giraldi who created the warm glow Nicole felt deep in her belly. When he dropped his head to kiss her in the waning light, she gave herself up to it completely and the glow grew warmer. He broke the kiss to look more deeply into her eyes. Whatever he saw there had him pressing her back into the cushion and his mouth moving more insistently on hers.

The boat rocked gently beneath them as he explored her mouth with his. She heard another boat approaching and he went still for a moment as it passed. When the boat’s wake had died down, he raised his head and rose up on his elbows.

Nicole felt his absence keenly. He’d be shocked to know just how much. Or how long it had been since she’d been so eager to have sex with someone. Her life had been in shambles for so long that sex was barely a distant memory.

“I want you, Nicole,” he said simply. “And unless I’m misreading things, I think the feeling’s mutual.”

She realized with some surprise that she had no interest in arguing. If that boat hadn’t passed, they would probably be making love right now. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but she was no longer thinking “if” but “when.” A small purr of desire sounded deep in her throat.

He laughed softly, the sound an even bigger turn-on than the broad chest that had pressed against her and the warmth of his lips moving on hers.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” he said. “But I’m thinking I’d like some time and some privacy. Anything that takes place out here between passing boats won’t be either of those things.”

“How long will it take us to get back to your place?” she whispered.

“If you keep looking at me like that, we’re not going anywhere,” he said.

“And if I stop?” she asked, although she wasn’t sure she could.

“We’ll be there in ten minutes.” He’d barely finished speaking before he’d turned the key in the ignition and begun hauling the anchor into the boat. A heartbeat or two later he was standing behind the wheel, jamming the throttle down. When the boat leveled out, he reached for her and drew her up in front of him, bracing her between his body and the steering wheel, tucking the top of her head under his chin as the boat skimmed across the water, following a path of dancing moonbeams.

Maddie paced the house, glancing out each window she passed hoping for some sight of Kyra returning with Dustin from their daily walk—walks on which Maddie was no longer invited and during which she suspected Kyra was taking her son to spend time with his father. What she saw was photographers, though the number had begun to dwindle. She didn’t know how many shots of Kyra and Dustin and the rest of them would constitute “enough,” but she sincerely hoped they were close to that number.

At the moment the guys were out in the pool house. Avery and Deirdre were down in the kitchen discussing the upcoming installation and Nicole was out. Madeline wished she were out too, but she had nowhere to go and no one to go there with. She had no reason to brave the camera-wielding loiterers alone. How pathetic was that?

She went downstairs and paced the first floor, avoiding the kitchen, where Avery and Deirdre’s discussion had taken
on an argumentative tone. Maddie sighed at the irony. It was largely because of Avery and Deridre’s unique skills and their collaboration that The Millicent was now cleaner, lighter, and healthier, her deadweight removed like unneeded ballast on a ship, and yet their relationship still foundered; the mother-daughter bond could be a lifeline, but sometimes that line was too frayed to hold.

Madeline ran a hand over a living room wall and contemplated Mario Dante’s work, noting how skillfully he’d blended the new plaster with the old. Soon a new coat of paint would hide his craftsmanship, but because of all of them, The Millicent would be ready for her next voyage, whatever that might entail.

Her cell phone rang shrill in the quiet and startled Madeline out of her musings. She glanced down at the screen, but the phone number, which had an area code she didn’t recognize, was unfamiliar. Caller ID said only “private caller.” Eager for a distraction, she answered. And immediately wished she hadn’t.

“Are you there or aren’t you?” the voice, which Madeline had hoped to never hear again, demanded.

For a long moment she debated whether she could just hang up without speaking and pretend she hadn’t really answered.

“I know you’re there. I can hear you fucking breathing!”

If there had been any doubt about who was on the other end, the f-bomb eliminated it. Tonja Kay’s voice, which was so seductive on a movie screen, tended toward vile and nasty in real life.

“I’m fuckin’ pissed off, Maddie,” she said. “That
is
what they call you, isn’t it?”

Maddie didn’t respond. But she was starting to feel a little bit pissed off herself.

“Your daughter is with my husband right now,” Tonja Kay said. “Did you know that?”

The answer to this was yes, though Maddie had been hoping she was wrong. Still she didn’t speak. She was almost afraid of what might come out.

“I’ve got a dozen pictures of him in those ridiculous disguises,” the movie star said. “As if there’s a makeup or wardrobe person in this universe who could keep such a juicy secret to themselves.”

Madeline’s last phone conversation with the potty-mouthed Tonja Kay had been crude and unpleasant. At the time the movie star had demanded in the foulest possible terms that Kyra leave her husband alone. Her language had not improved.

“The private investigator I’ve had following him says your bitch of a daughter isn’t the only other woman he’s seeing.” She paused, presumably to let that little tidbit sink in. “But then monogamy has never been Daniel’s strong point.”

The thought of Kyra and her grandson in the middle of this mockery of a marriage made Maddie sick to her stomach. She would never wish Dustin away, but she’d had more than enough of Daniel Deranian and his wife.

“So why are you calling me, Tonja?” she finally asked.

There was no answer and so Maddie pressed on, her anger gathering steam. “If Kyra’s just one of many, why call me? Are you calling all of their mothers?” Though she knew it was childish, she made sure her tone was every bit as snide as the actress’s.

She half expected the woman to hang up. When that didn’t happen, she braced for a barrage of profanity. She was not at all prepared for Tonja Kay’s answer.

“I’m calling because your daughter is one of the few who managed to get pregnant.” She said this as if Kyra had achieved this result by herself. “And because she’s the only one who’s delivered a boy.” There was a brief silence. “And Daniel’s gone and gotten all sappy about him.” The last was spoken so softly Maddie had to strain to hear it.

Unable to stand still, Madeline crossed the living room and stared out a back window at the newly filled swimming pool. No one had been swimming yet because little of the resurfaced deck was out of camera range.

“What is it you want?” Madeline asked when the silence continued. “And why are you calling me? If there’s anything to be discussed, and I can’t imagine what that might be, the person you should be discussing it with is Kyra.”