Picture Me Dead (18 page)

Well, the perky weather girl had been right. The night was beautiful, with a fresh breeze off the water, enough to make it balmy, not sticky hot, not too cool. She stood outside a while longer, then ducked back when she saw a figure emerge on the bow of the houseboat.

Dilessio.

Half in and half out of her doorway, she counted on the shadows to hide her presence. She wondered what he was doing. Maybe he had listened to the perky weather girl, too, and come out to see what the night was like. He'd stripped down to cutoffs. She could see the moonlight glinting on his chest.

She could just imagine having Karen and Jan with her. He would have been thoroughly assessed by now, legs, butt, face…maybe even feet. Of course, she couldn't see him all that clearly from here, but…

Yes, the guy was good-looking. Strong face, deep voice, good eyes and yes, great buns.

“Hey, Ash, too much work and not enough play,” she murmured to herself. She forced herself to slip into her room, to close and lock the door. What the hell was she thinking?

For some reason, she didn't seem able to help herself. She kept thinking about her conversation with Karen.

Don't you ever just want to have sex?

It wasn't as if she'd just met him, but still, she certainly didn't
know
him.

Still, she found him attractive. Too attractive, especially because he could sure as hell be an overbearing jerk. Not to mention that she was in the academy and he was a detective. It was the stupidest thing she'd ever thought of in her life.

But then, it didn't really have a lot to do with thought. She had sat next to him in a car, and her palms had gone damp. Not because he was a detective. Because he'd been next to her.

She'd seen him just standing on his boat.

And…

Okay, he was physically appealing. And she'd been leading a dull life, work, study, work, study, and…he had the right parts, put together quite well, with a voice…

She groaned. It was getting late. The alarm would ring well before six, and every class was very important. There was a lot she had to prove—to herself, and to others, she suddenly realized.

She lay on her bed, oddly aware that a man who both infuriated and tempted her was just yards away.

The Twilight Zone,
Nick at Nite, AMC. She needed to watch something entertaining that would capture her mind and then let her sleep.

She started flicking through the channels. Cooking…no. Alligators in the swamp…not tonight. She went through more of the premium cable stations.

She stopped, her eyes widening.

She wasn't certain when they had started putting soft porn
that graphic
on television. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, even though she was sitting there alone.

That wouldn't help at all. She quickly switched the channel.

A rerun of
I Love Lucy
turned up. Much safer. Ashley slammed her pillow, determined that she was going to relax and go to sleep.

Eventually, she did.

 

Jake didn't always lock the door to the cabin of the
Gwendolyn,
but he could have sworn he had tonight. But when he'd automatically set the key in the lock, the knob had twisted before the key had been turned.

He held still for a minute, listening, but there were no sounds other than the lapping of the water against the boat and the distant, blended noises of the bar. He held very still, drew his gun, and flattened himself against the exterior of the cabin as he threw the door open.

Again…nothing.

He entered slowly and carefully. The living room, galley, dining area…all empty. He went aft and down, checking the small head, the closets, every crawl space. He traveled back through the main rooms and went into the master cabin, going through the same routine. Nothing.

Nothing…but a feeling. Someone had been there.

Puzzled, he paused at his desk. Small, compact, neat. There was just space on top for his laptop and a small printer, and the desk itself offered drawers where he stowed files on the cases he was working on. He opened the drawers; everything seemed to be in place. The computer was off, as he had left it.

Nothing appeared to be out of order….

Just slightly…different.

Feeling a sense of invasion that couldn't be pinpointed, he assured himself that the door was locked—double bolted. In his cabin, he stripped down to a pair of cutoffs and sat at his computer for a moment, drawing up the old files he had been obsessively rereading. Then he hesitated, feeling that his computer had been invaded, as well. Yet nothing was different.

He went out and stood on deck, searching along the dock and the rows of boats. No one seemed to be stirring. There were still lights on at Nick's.

Though barefoot and bare-chested, he sprang to the dock and walked the short distance to the bar. The door remained open, though the Closed sign had been set out. Entering, he found Nick behind the bar, wiping down the old polished wood. Just a few customers remained at the tables, drinking coffee. Nick had a cut-off policy where liquor was concerned; he didn't intend to be responsible for drunk drivers. An old John Denver song finished playing on the jukebox as Jake approached Nick.

“Jake, hey. What can I do for you?” Nick asked, surprised to see him. He frowned and teased, “Shirts and shoes required, you know. Florida law.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Jake said. “Nick, I needed to ask you…that key I asked you to keep—did you use it tonight for any reason?”

Nick shook his head. “No, it was busy here tonight. I never left.”

“This is awkward, but…are you sure you keep it in a safe place?”

“Hell, yes.”

“It's not here, accessible to anyone in the bar?”

Nick glanced across the room. “Hey, y'all!” he called to the remaining customers. “Thanks for coming, but it's time for you to head out.”

Jake waited while Nick showed the customers out. When the door was closed and locked, Nick said, “Come on in the house. I'll make sure the key is exactly where I left it.”

Nick led the way behind the bar, through the office and into the living room. Dim night-lights cast the room in soft shadow.

“Was something wrong at the boat?” Nick asked.

“No, not really.”

“Okay, well, just give me a minute,” Nick said. He wasn't the type to pry, even if a few questions were warranted.

“I just had a feeling someone had been on the
Gwendolyn,
” Jake offered. “I could have sworn I locked her when I left, but the door was open when I got back. There's nothing gone—I may be imagining that someone was there. Hell, maybe I thought I locked it and didn't.” His tone made it clear that he didn't believe that. “Since I could see the lights from the bar and knew you were still up, I thought I'd ask about the key.”

“No problem. And hey, if you're uncomfortable about my having it…”

“I'm not. I appreciate your having it for workmen, deliveries, whatever. I'd just kind of like to make sure it's here.”

“I'm sure it is. The house is off-limits to customers, you know. But you're right, it can't hurt to check. Hey, help yourself, if you want a drink, coffee, whatever. You know where the kitchen is.”

“Thanks.”

Nick disappeared down a hall to the right.

 

Ashley's sleep was troubled by dreams. Stuart was in them, talking to her, walking around in his white briefs as if it were completely normal. As if they had become the new office attire.

Stuart faded….

Dilessio was back in her dreams. He wasn't even wearing briefs. She kept trying to meet his eyes, rather than looking down, pretending that there was nothing abnormal about him walking around naked. She was with him, topside on his houseboat, telling him just how graphic cable was these days.

She awoke suddenly, feeling drenched and chilled at the same time. The dream images faded, and she sat up in her bed, trying to discern what had awakened her.

It was late. There was no muted noise from the bar. The television was showing yet another episode of
I Love Lucy.

She stood, stretched, and wondered what could have bothered her. Walking to one of the two windows that flanked the door to the docks, she looked out. The docks themselves were empty, the boats rocking gently in their slips.

Still uneasy, Ashley walked silently in her bare feet to the door that led to the house. She opened the door and listened. Nothing.

The bar had closed. Nick had probably gone on in to bed.

Nothing…and then…

A noise. Just a noise. Something shifting…somewhere in the house.

She went into the living room. Nick never left the place in total darkness, so dim night-lights cast eerie shadows over the room.

The mounted fish seemed to glare at her, furious at being out of the water, stuffed and hanging on a wall.

She'd lived here a long time. The fish had never seemed to be a menace before.

Again…that noise…

And it was coming from the kitchen. She walked swiftly and silently through the house to the kitchen, dropping low behind the counter, listening again. It could be Nick, of course. Or Sharon. But why would they walk so stealthily through their own house?

She moved along behind the counter, toward the end, from where she could get a full view of the room.

Too late she realized that someone, moving as silently as she, had come up behind her. A scream rose in her throat as rough arms suddenly grabbed her around her waist.

“Who the hell are you, and what the fuck are you doing?”

She tried to spin and fight, lost her balance and fell. The figure came down heavily on top of her. The oversized T-shirt in which she had been sleeping rucked up between them.

Before she could even struggle, the kitchen was suddenly flooded with light.

“What the hell…?”

It was Nick speaking. And she was staring up into the tense features of their newest neighbor and the star of her recent dream: Detective Jake Dilessio.

To her pleasure, he looked as awkward as she felt. For a moment they were caught there, almost in an embrace.

Then he quickly scrambled up, offering her a hand.

He wasn't naked, but it was close enough. Just those cutoffs. And in their brief moments on the floor together, they had made a contact she could still feel. She seemed to be burning from her flushed features to her toes. But then again, despite his tan, he had taken on a more crimson hue, as well.

“I thought someone was sneaking through the house,” he said.

“Ditto,” she murmured, still meeting his eyes.

“Didn't occur to either one of you just to call out, huh?” Nick said.

“Well, if someone
were
actually sneaking around the house…” Ashley began.

“You were doing exactly that,” Jake told Ashley with a grin.

“I live here!” she reminded him. “What were you doing in here?”

“He was with me,” Nick said.

“He was in the kitchen—you weren't,” Ashley pointed out.

“He told me to help myself to something to drink,” Jake informed her. “I was getting a glass of iced tea.”

“Cops,” Nick said with a sigh. “Everything has to be a big mystery.” He shook his head, as if perplexed by a different species. “Let's put the kettle on. Hot tea might be good now. Decaf for me, since I do intend to sleep sometime tonight.”

He walked around to the stove. Ashley and Jake were left standing almost on top of one another. Ashley backed off a little. She wished suddenly she slept in something a little more…dignified. Her T-shirt advertised a rock band from the last concert she'd been to and didn't even fall to mid-thigh.

“I should get a robe,” she murmured.

“Listen, Nick, I'll just get back to the
Gwendolyn,
” Jake said. “If you've checked on that little matter for me?”

“I did.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and produced a key. “It was right where it should have been.”

Frowning, Ashley stared at Jake. Apparently he didn't feel he needed to give her an explanation.

“Are there any others out there?” Nick asked.

“No,” Jake said, then hesitated. “Actually…yes. I hadn't thought about it in…a long time. I'd forgotten. But yes, you're right. There is another one out there.”

He looked grim. Not the kind of guy you would want to mess with.

“Hey, Ash, grab some mugs, will you?” Nick said.

She walked around the counter and opened the cabinet. As she did so, Sharon walked into the kitchen, yawning, stretching. She was in a long, midnight-blue silk gown and robe. She had no makeup on, her hair was tousled, and she looked like a million bucks. Ashley knew her own hair was snarled around her face. And her T-shirt was…a T-shirt.