A Love Awaits
by
PATRICIA ROSE MOOR

Although Simon's touch sent shivers down her spine, she couldn't forget that
his brother had been accused of her sister's murder!

Simon didn't believe his brother had been guilty and he longed to make Phoebe
his.  But just as her de fences were weakening, the real killer made himself
known.  Now, if they didn't act quickly, they would be next to lose their
lives.  "This is one night I'm not likely to forget.9 " Stop a minute and
catch your breath," Simon said.

"You all right?"  he asked, close enough that his breath warmed her already
overheated face.

"Uh, huh," she lied.

He ran the back of his knuckles along her cheek, making her catch her breath.

"You're trembling."

"I'm not used to the exercise."  "Liar."

He was crowding her against the tree she leaned against, still touching her
with one hand, while his other was flattened on the tree trunk behind her.

Vaguely remembering the reason they'd been forced to run into the swamp, she
whispered,

"Don't you have any thing more productive to do?"

"Well, then..."

His head dipped slow enough that it gave her time to duck if that was what
she wanted to do.

She didn't.  A Lover Awaits

PATMCIA ROSE MOOR

ISBN 0373 224990

As a writer, I love nothing more than throwing my heroes and heroines to the
precipice of danger, to make ordinary people fight the worst villains and
win.  For me, it's a celebration of the human spirit, the discovery of
untapped strengths that I am certain we all possess if only we can find the
courage to reach deep inside ourselves.

A Lover Awaits is book three of my Seven Sins series.  For this series, I've
chosen to raise the stakes, to push my heroes and heroines to the emotional
edge at the same time they are fighting for their very existence.  In the
midst of mortal danger, they must wrestle with equally destructive inner
demons and take back their lives.  and in doing so, be rewarded with a love
for all time.

Let me know how you enjoy their stories at P.  O.  Box 578279, Chicago,

IL

60657-8297, U.  S.  A.

"tjl^'k*^ niXMH^rL.

Thanks to Elaine Sima for her spectacular house which now belongs to me via
Phoebe <g>; to Elaine and Sherrill Bodine for introducing me to a fascinating
new setting; and to Dennis Perry for helping me work out some of the crime
details.

Prologue "Our newest subject is Phoebe Grant," Zoe De clue announced,
fingering the folder she'd set on the table between them, then suddenly
withdrawing her hand.

Alex Gotham stared at his collaborator, fascinated by the haze of pink
creeping up her neck and beneath the blunt cut of her silvery chin-length
hair.

"What's the rush?"  he asked.

"We haven't even ordered yet."

Zoe started, her gaze darting around the room until it lit on a nearby
waitress, arms loaded with a tray of food.  Her deep green eyes flashed open
wide, almost as if she'd just remembered she'd asked him to meet her at a
restaurant rather than at her office, Alex thought.

"I, uh, know what I want, and it might be a while," she murmured in that soft
voice that enveloped him in its silky cocoon.

"I thought we could get a head start on the, uh ... topic for Chapter Three."

Lust.

How odd that she avoided saying it, Alex thought.  As odd as her insisting
they meet in a public  place.  as odd as her wearing a steel-gray suit
designed for a more mature, harder personality.  He'd never seen her in any
thing but softly neutral outfits touched with some warm hue that made him
suspect an intriguing sensuality hidden beneath her cool exterior.

Hidden.  Alex couldn't help himself.  He said,

"Why don't you give me your take on the topic before getting into specifics,"
just to see her reaction.

"Yes, well... lust... gratification without involvement.  A sin that denies
feelings deeper than the physical."

The becoming color spread to her cheeks, making Alex suspect that Zoe was
embarrassed.

Perhaps a bit prudish?

They'd been working together only a short time and he didn't know her well
enough to say.  A research psychologist, Zoe De clue had approached him to
write a book about the Seven Deadly Sins--a humanistic examination of pride,
envy, wrath, sloth, avarice, gluttony and lust.  She wanted to demonstrate
how these sins kept a person isolated from society and therefore from loving
freely.  And through the cooperation of her colleagues across the
country--and given the written permission of their patients who would remain
anonymous--they were able to focus on true-life narratives.  Each chapter
would tell the story of a single person who'd found a second chance at life
after recognizing and rising above one of the emotion-based sins.

Writing the book with her was his second chance,  and for that, Alex was
grateful.  Several years before as a moderately successful investigative
reporter, he'd been thrown into stardom with the publication of Lost Youth,
his highly touted nonfiction look into the world of runaway teens.
Unfortunately, his life had taken an unexpectedly gruesome turn, and it had
been downhill from there.  straight into the depths of a liquor bottle.

But he was coming back.

Work was keeping him sober, one day at a time.

Alex wondered about Zoe's sin against herself.  More than once, he'd
suspected her interest in the project was as personal as it was professional.

What would she have to resolve so that she could find fulfillment and
happiness?

Thinking that it was only a matter of time before he" found out, Alex let her
off the hook and returned to the subject of their next chapter.

"So this Phoebe Grant... she was promiscuous?"

"That's not exactly what I meant to imply."  Zoe opened the folder.

"Her story is far more complex."

"Aren't they all?"  Alex murmured.

"Very early on, Phoebe became convinced that love was... well, the source of
unhappiness for the women in her family."

Confused, he asked,

"So she rejected men?"

"No, not at all.  She merely decided that, um..."  Zoe licked her lips.

"lust was preferable to love."

Again, he was struck by her surprising difficulty in broaching the topic.

Wanting to explore that, he held himself in check instead.

"So she chose to get her physical gratification without emotion."

"Exactly.  Through therapy, Phoebe came to realize  that she'd actually been
cheating herself of real happiness."

"Sex therapy," Alex couldn't resist saying, just to see the soft color
returning once again to Zoe's cheeks.

"Grief counseling," she countered.

"I told you it was complicated.  Let me start from the beginning."

He took the newspaper clipping she held out to him.  The lurid headline read:
Passion Ends in Murder- Suicide.

Chapter One "Just in..."  The anchorwoman's dark eyebrows arched beneath
straight blond bangs.

"Last Monday morning, the bodies of Boone Calder on and Audra Laughlin were
found in his Marco Island home," she said.

A photo of the couple filled the television screen.

"While the investigation continues, authorities surmise the deaths to be a
murder-suicide.  The preliminary investigation indicates that Calder on shot
his lover to prevent her from reconciling with her husband--successful Fort
Myers businessman Vance Laughlin--before turning the gun on himself..."

The words from the newscaster's earlier broadcast echoed in Phoebe Grant's
head until she wanted to scream,

"Not true!"

A gust of wind howled through the palm fronds and threw fine wisps of hair in
her eyes as she picked her way through the aftermath of the tropical summer
storm.  Her dock shoes were soaked, her bare ankles and shins flicked by
vegetation and other debris that littered the ground.  Phoebe hardly noticed.
Too aware  of the pressure in her chest, of the rush of blood through her
ears, of the knot in her stomach, she stopped and stared at the silhouette of
the house.

For a moment, the dread filling her at the thought of entering made her waver
in her purpose.

Even in the middle of the night, lights temporarily doused by electrical
failure, moon swamped by diminishing storm clouds, she could see the
structure clearly in her mind's eye: two stories high.  pillars flanking the
front doors.  exterior the color of lust.  Sucking in the fetid air mixed
with the strong odor of fish always left behind after a storm raged through
the area, she forced her legs forward.

A warning hiss and a skittering sound--a big and heavy body quickly
scrambling along the ground-- followed by a loud plunk into the channel made
her insides clutch.  Alligator.  The dangerous reptiles didn't usually hang
out around here.  This one had probably taken shelter from the storm.

But where one gator lurked.  Not savoring the thought of an accidental
meeting in the dark, Phoebe snapped on the flashlight she'd removed from her
glove compartment and swept its beam over the area.  A six-foot saw palmetto
had been upended from its roots, a low hedge of lantana flattened, its
crushed leaves releasing a spicy pungent aroma.

nothing more threatening than debris.

Fishing her sister's extra set of house keys from her pocket, Phoebe hurried
to the front door, released the lock and let herself inside.

What she expected to find, she couldn't say.

 But something--any thing--to prove the authorities wrong.

Boone hadn't killed Audra.  Hadn't turned the gun on himself.  She knew this
deep in her heart.  Her sister had been too happy.  Had put too much stock in
this relationship.  No matter what Vance had told the all- thorities--no
matter that he had played the contrite and grieving husband to the
hilt--Phoebe knew Audra hadn't had any intention of reconciling.

So why the lie?

Vance was the one who had a reason to be jealous.  Not that he'd ever needed
a reason before, she grimly remembered.  The man had been downright
delusional.

And why wouldn't Detective Sand st rom believe her?  He'd listened politely,
had even promised to check it out, but she had the feeling he'd categorized
her as being something less than a credible source.  Too emotional.

She didn't want to think the other .  that money could buy any thing.  any
one.  even the men sworn to uphold justice.

Her brother-in-law had plenty of cash to spare.  Had he bought off someone
associated with the investigation?  If she found evidence that might
incriminate him, then what?

Phoebe only hoped she could trust Detective Sand- st rom to do the right thing.

So she was inside.  Now what?

She'd acted on instinct, not from plan.  The late- night news broadcast had
jolted her out of her shock induced complacency.  She hadn't taken the time
to think things through.

What to look for?

A diary.  Audra had kept one from girlhood on, had ritualized recording her
thoughts and emotions.  Phoebe wished she'd remembered this when talking to
the authorities, but even now, she was finding it difficult to remain
clearheaded.  Audra had been the only family she'd ever felt close to.  Even
now, tears threatened.

She pulled herself together and concentrated on her mission.

On leaving her husband, Audra had moved into their mother and stepfather's
vacated winter townhouse in Naples.  But after meeting Boone, she'd begun
dividing her time between their place and his.

What was to say she hadn't brought the journal with her that fateful night?

It could be here, Phoebe reasoned.

Armed only with the flashlight, she moved away from the door.  Luckily she'd
been in the house several times before--often enough to know her way around.
Its center was an atrium, the double-story rise split only by a suspended
walkway, which connected the second-floor master suite on one side of the
building with the guest rooms on the other.

She would start with Boone's bedroom.

Heading for the stairs, she paused at a hint of nearby movement.  A mere
whisper in the dark.  She flashed the beam around the open living area and
beyond, through the glass wall to the lanai.  nothing.

 Maybe the sound had come from the private dock where the boat Boone had
used to get to work every morning was anchored.

Another gator, she concluded.

Shaking off her unease, she climbed the steps to the master suite.  The
sitting room, bedroom and bath bore witness to the investigation.  Torn up.

And yet the sign of a lovers' tryst was still evident.  Perfumed silk sheets.
Candles burned to nubs.  Flowers everywhere.  Shriveled.  Dead.

Just like her sister and the man she'd loved.

Though they hadn 't died here.

Audra had been found floating facedown in the swimming pool, while Boone had
clung to the edge, his right hand and leg dangling in the water.  The gun had
sunk to the bottom of the pool.

A lump caught in her throat even as she heard yet another sound, nearly
certain this one came from somewhere within the house.

What if she wasn't alone?

What if the real murderer had returned to the scene of the crime?

Phoebe nearly choked on her own stupidity.  She should have waited for
daybreak.  She shouldn't have come alone.

Deciding to get out while the getting was good, to come back the next morning
with Kevin--she'd twist her partner's arm if necessary--she snapped off the
flashlight and sidled out of the bedroom.  Ears attuned to the night, she
cautiously started back down the stairs, careful to make no sound herself.

 Not that she could hear much above the thunder of her blood rushing through
her ears.

Dry-mouthed, she barely breathed until she reached the bottom of the steps.
She flew across the still-dark room toward the front door, a ragged, relieved
breath rattling her chest as she reached for the knob.

Her hand hit something solid.  something whipcord hard.  something distinctly
not wood.

With a smothered cry, she tried fleeing in the opposite direction--toward the
lanai--but before she knew what was happening, a hard grip on her shoulder
spun her around and shoved her to the floor.  A heavy weight descending on
her pinned her neatly in place.

"Get off me!"  she cried, flashlight and nails flying toward his face.

As if by instinct rather than sight--unless he had a cat's ability to see in
the dark--he caught both her wrists and plunged her arms up over her head,
somehow managing to remove the flashlight from her hand in the process.

He.  definitely a man.  the murderer returned to the scene of the crime?

And there she lay.  her soft belly exposed.  vulnerable.

Phoebe tried bucking him, kneeing him, kicking him.  All she got for her
trouble was frustration.  And then he easily grasped both her wrists in one
hand and flashed her own light in her face.

"Who the hell are you?"  he demanded.

"And what is it you want here?"

 Her lungs deflated by his weight, she could hardly squeak,

"Me?"

"You," he repeated even as the power came back on and the room lit up like a
Christmas display.

Her eyes squiached automatically against the unexpected, nearly blinding
light, but she forced them open wide and focused on her attacker.

Loose strands of dark brown hair tumbled over a high, narrow forehead.
heavy-lidded, almost black eyes (bedroom eyes, Audra had called them).
straight, prominent nose.  hollow, beard-shadowed cheeks.  teeth bared
threateningly above a square jaw.  definitely alarming.  and yet as handsome
as sin.  Her mouth dropped open.

"Boone..."  rasped between her suddenly stiff lips.

She blinked, but the apparition didn't change.

The man who'd been declared dead along with her sister continued to glare
down at her.

Ghost was the first thought that came to mind.

Hoax the second, for this was no spirit but a flesh- and-blood man.

But she 'd seen Boone Calder on buried!

A closer audit of his features revealed subtle
differences--imperfections--the most notable of which was a scar threading
his stub bled chin.  Understanding hit her with a jolt.  She'd known Boone had
a brother who rarely came out of his swamp, though no one had ever mentioned
he was a twin.

"You're Simon Calder on!"

Her preconception of him made the statement an  accusation.  Heir to his
brother's estate, he hadn't even shown for the funeral.

"I know who / am" -- "Get off!"

"--which gives you one up on me."

"At least I'm not crushing the life out of you," she gasped out, then,
because she figured she had to if she ever wanted to breathe normally again,
added, "I'm Phoebe Grant.  Audra's sister."

With obvious reluctance, he released her hands, his calloused thumbs lightly
nicking against her sensitive inner wrists as he drew back.  An unfamiliar
and unwelcome sensation swamped her.  Phoebe trembled and fought the instinct
to punch him for giving her such a scare.  Even now, sitting back on his
haunches, Simon Calder on made her uneasy.  His jeans-clad thighs hugged her
hips like a lover's.  though his passionless features were any thing but
loving.  Finally, to her relief, he rose, allowing her to scramble to her
feet.

"You didn't answer my question."

Glaring up at him, she said,

"I identified myself."

"About why you're here."

"I was loo king for something."

"What?"

Not knowing why she didn't tell him about the diary, she said,

"Anything... a lead to the murders..."

Arms crossed over his chest, silent, he waited.

"You must have heard the official theory," Phoebe said.

"The authorities got it wrong."

If she expected Simon to join in, to curse the stupid fools, she was
disappointed.  It was almost as if.   Forehead wrinkling, she said,

"A killer is running around loose."

"More likely dead of a self-inflicted gunshot."

She gaped.

"You can't possibly believe that."

"Why not?"

"Boone was your brother!  Your twin.  Surely you knew him better than anyone."

"Exactly."  His simple statement chilled her.

Phoebe stared, wondering how she could have mistaken him for Boone.  Her
sister's lover had never been so judgmental.  Had never looked so closed off
from human emotion.  Simon hadn't even come to the funeral.  He didn't seem
to be grieving for his brother now.  He appeared as cold-blooded as the
alligators with whom he lived cheek by jowl in his swamp.

"" You really think Boone was capable of murder?  "

He turned away.

"I know what my brother was capable of."

She grabbed his arm to stop him from walking away.  He glanced down at her
hand, then slowly raised his gaze to her face, staring at her as if she were
a pesky insect.  But when she let go, he stayed put.

"I don't understand."

"You don't need to."

"Yes," she argued, thinking of her sister--of the good-hearted if misguided
young woman whose life had been snuffed out by a bullet.

"I do."

His renewed silence distressed her.  As did his penetrating gaze.  Phoebe
stared back, willing him to say what was on his mind.

"Before you leave," Simon finally said,

"I'll take  the keys."  When she stared stupidly at him, at a loss for
words, he added, "The ones you used to get inside."  Those bedroom eyes
traveled ever so slowly down her flesh--face to throat to breasts to
stomach--finally settling on her right hip where the keys made a bulge in her
shorts pocket.

"I guess I can fetch them myself."

He reached out as if he meant to do exactly that.

Unnerved, already violated by his intense gaze and unwilling to take any more
from him, Phoebe slapped his hand away, fetched the keys and shoved them into
his chest.  Hard.  His lips twitched as he took them from her, his subtle
amusement fueling her temper.

"Boone made Audra happy," she hotly informed him.

"She loved your brother and for once I approved of her choice in men.  He was
one of the most decent guys I've ever met.  He didn't try to control her.
Didn't manipulate her.  Didn't abuse her.  Why would he kill her?"

A flicker behind those dark eyes told her she'd gotten to him, and yet he
spoke without a hint of emotion.

"Maybe it was like the authorities said and your sister meant to go back to
her husband."

"She wouldn't have."

Even as she made the denial, Phoebe knew a moment's doubt.  Like their mother
before her, Audra had never been astute in her choice of men--not until
Boone.  And Vance--Audra's biggest mistake--had always been able to exert too
much power over her.  Unwilling to believe such nonsense, Phoebe shook away
the disturbing qualm.

"More likely her husband did it," she said.

 ' "Out of jealousy?"

"Something like that.  Vance Laughlin never lets go of a possession until
he's done with it.  He wasn't done with my sister."

The very coldness of Simon's voice ate its way up her spine when he asked,
"Laughlin physically abused her?"

If Vance had ever hit her sister, Audra had never admitted as much.  But
then, abused women rarely did.

"I know she was afraid of him."

Vance Laughlin demanded perfection in everything.  How many times had Audra
fearfully recounted his displeasure if she bought the wrong wine or wore a
dress he disliked?

"Not the same thing," Simon said.

"Abuse has many faces."  Ugly faces that she'd recognized even as a child.

"Vance relishes exercising his power at every opportunity... especially when
he's been drinking."

Again something flicked deep within Simon's eyes.

Pain?

So he wasn't completely invulnerable, Phoebe realized, quick to take
advantage.

"What if Boone didn't do it?"  she demanded.  "Don't you want to clear his
good name?"

"What other people think doesn't matter."

Other people.  "What about you?"  she asked.

"About what you think?  Don't you want to know the truth?"

He didn't have to answer.  His eyes did that for him.

"If I'm right," she pressed on, "what about the real murderer?  Shouldn't he
be stopped?  Don't you  want justice?"  At this last remark, Simon's dark
expression made Phoebe fear she'd lost him.  "It's not up to us to mete out
justice" -- "That's not what I said.  Or meant.  I'm talking about digging
for the truth, and once we find it, handing it over to the authorities."

To someone who would listen with an open mind.  Some one who would believe
her.

For a moment, Phoebe thought she had Simon's attention again.  Just as
quickly, the glimmer of humanity she'd glimpsed receded.  leaving her with
the cold, uncaring shell of a person she'd sized him up to be in the first
place.  His next words confirmed it.  "Don't let the door hit you on your way
out."  Stubbornly, she held her ground.

"Look, if you don't want to get involved, don't.  But I'm not giving up."
Even figuring she was arguing with a wall, she said,

"As long as I'm here, why not let me" -- "You wasted the drive, Phoebe, so
give up."  She let out a frustrated sound and shook her head.  "I'll never
give up.  And I don't understand."

This time he didn't argue, merely moved in on her so close she caught her
breath.  Barely enough room for a sheet of paper between them, she stared at
his chin, at the small scar, because it should have been safer than meeting
those bedroom eyes, when, in fact, she didn't feel safe at all.

She felt.  what?  surely not attracted to him?  Rather, she acknowledged a
recognition of Simon's intensity.  of his inner strength.  and especially of
 some dark force lurking below the surface that frightened her.

Just when she couldn't stand it a moment longer, he reached past her.  The
door clicked open.  She met his gaze and was surprised to see amusement--like
when he'd forced her to turn over the keys.

Tempted to stay put, Phoebe knew it was useless.  He'd throw her out bodily
if he had to.  Still, she wouldn't turn tail and run, as instinct was urging
her.

She backed off slowly, carefully, placing one foot behind the other until
she'd passed through the doorway.  There she stopped, gaze still connected
with his, willing Simon to change his mind.

What he did instead was slam the door in her face.

simon's amusement faded the moment the door swung shut.

He waited for her to leave, but Phoebe Grant was nothing if not obstinate.

Imagining her angular face, stubborn chin slightly cocked, straight nose
tilted, wide-spaced hazel eyes (the left punctuated by a mole at its outer
corner) focused on him--judging him--he tensed.  He answered to no one.

Assuredly not to some strange woman who wanted to tell him how he should feel
about his own brother's death.

What did she know about the dark recesses of the human soul?

Her sister had died, as well.  Murdered.  That qualified her for something,
he guessed.

He sensed her waiting.  For him to relent?  To invite  her back inside, not
only into the house, but into his life?

The hell he would!

One minute stretched to two, two to three, and still she made no move to
leave.  Simon clenched his jaw.  Reaching out, he turned the dead bolt,
hoping its snap was loud enough for her to hear on the other side.

Finally, he sensed her withdrawal, heard the whisper of her sneakers against
the walkway.  Finally, she gave up, albeit with reluctance, he was certain.

And he was left alone once more, exactly as he'd been inside for most of his
life.

Boone's life was over.  His twin's probable suicide made Simon feel emptier
than before.

Chapter Two "So, you a native, or what?"  Kevin Salt is asked the buxom
blonde who perched on a bar stool across from him, while he made her a pina
co lada.

"A native of New Jersey."  The young woman leaned in closer, offering him a
view of her cleavage.

Kevin's dark eyes his most tangible legacy from his Cuban grandfather snapped
with interest.  "You're just visiting, then?"

"Working on my tan."

From her post at the nearby hostess's stand, Phoebe arched her eyebrows.

Bum was more like it.  The blonde's skin had the glow of raw meat.  Too many
tourists tended to barbecue themselves as if needing to prove they'd been to
Florida threat of skin cancer or no.

"Loo kin' good," her fair-haired partner murmured, as Phoebe had heard him do
dozens of times with dozens of uncomplicated women on dozens of hot,
slow-moving days like this.

Kevin flexed his considerable muscle as he set the young woman's drink on the
bar.  Although he was  only five foot ten, he was broad-shouldered and so
brawny that he gave the impression of a much larger man.  His infectious grin
heightened his boy-next-door good looks.  People took him for thirty, though
in reality, Kevin Salt is would soon shake hands with the big four-o.  That
didn't stop him from going after young women.  His striking out was a rare
occurrence, and about the only thing guaranteed to darken his naturally sunny
disposition.

Even now, he was murmuring,

"Maybe you'd like someone to show you the nightlife..."

Irritated at being privy to the flirtation when she had a far more serious
issue to discuss with him, Phoebe left the shelter of the overhang and drew
closer to the dock.

Halfway out in the bay, a dolphin arched above the water, undoubtedly in
pursuit of a fresh fish lunch.  Preening on the end post of the pier, a
pelican stretched its wings and sunned itself, odd-shaped beak lifted to the
sky, whose clear blue sweep held no trace of yesterday's storm.

Seagulls shrieked as they floated overhead, the scavengers already scouring
the area for discarded people food.

Nearly midday.

The hot and humid breeze sweeping over her did little to dry the perspiration
already dotting her body.

Florida in August could be murder.  Murder.  Audra.  Hot tears sprang to the
backs of her eyes and Phoebe concentrated on keeping them from falling.  She
wouldn't cry in public and humiliate herself, especially not here.  What
would her customers think?

 The lunchtime crowd was drifting in.  Work would occupy her mind.  Drawing
herself together, she found a smile from somewhere, seated a party of four
beneath a ceiling fan, handed out menus and distributed glasses of ice water.

"Your waitress will be right with you," she promised, even as three cranky
little kids accompanying an even crankier mother arrived.

Luckily, she was able to seat them inside, where the air-conditioning would
cool off their tempers and the window view (hopefully) would keep the kids
interested.

Tourists and locals alike frequented the Blue Crab Bar and Grill, known for
its lunchtime special--soft- shell crab sandwiches.  She and Kevin kept the
menu simple, the food good and portions generous--and were rewarded by a
steady, modestly lucrative business.

The place filled up fast.  At some point, another lone young woman came in
and greeted the one at the bar.  She indicated they wanted a table.  Before
following Phoebe, the blonde gave Kevin a promising smile and a mouthed
"later."

During a lull in the action, Phoebe drifted back to the bar, where her
partner was filling a drink order.

Picking up the conversation she'd tried to have with him prior to the
blonde's entrance, she asked, "So what do you think I should do?"

"About what?"

"How soon we forget.  Simon Calder on."

"You think he's good-loo king?"

Frowning, she tried not to visualize the hollow cheeked face that had
haunted her sleep.

"He looks exactly like Boone."

Except for a few harder edges, and that scar.

"I told you they were twins."

"But are you attracted to him?"

"What?"

"Is he your type?"

' "Kevin-nn..."

"Pheeebs..."

Heat flaring up her neck, she glanced over her shoulder.  Once assured no one
was paying them any mind, she turned back to her partner.

"What's wrong with you?  I'm trying to get some answers about my sister's
murder and you're trying to set me up with a date."

"You could use more than a date."  Setting drinks on a tray, Kevin wiggled
his eyebrows at her.

"You need some action, down and dirty.  Get rid of some of that tension."

"My love life is none of your business."

Even as he demanded,

"What love life?"  she thought of dark bedroom eyes.

For the moment regretting that she had so readily confided in a man who was
her business partner, Phoebe muttered,

"You're exasperating!"

"But cute, right?"

"Get serious."

"You want serious?"  The boyish smile faded, to be replaced by an expression
of concern.

"Okay.  As much as I know you're going to hate this... I think the cops got
it nailed, Pheebs.  For all his appearing to be a normal kinda guy, Boone
Calder on coul da been a pint short.  I think you're wasting your time."

 He was right.  She didn't like it.

"Thanks a lot."  "But, I'm there for you," he added warmly.

"Say the word and I'll help any way I can."

"Thanks," she said again, this time meaning it.  "I'll let you know if I come
up with something."

Kevin was her sounding board.  Had been since the year before, when she'd
inherited her father's half of the business.  He'd quickly become her mentor.
And her best buddy.  Moving around so much while growing up had precluded a
close relationship with anyone but her sisters--really only Audra--so making
friends was difficult for her.  Thankfully, Kevin hadn't let her social
ineptness stand in his way.  Also thankfully, she wasn't his type.

She'd choose a good friend over "a man" any day.  She'd learned well by
negative example.

simon let most of the day drift by without accomplishing a thing.  He'd meant
to get in and out, do what he had to before disappearing back into his swamp,
but life didn't always go as planned.

He found himself wandering the house, wondering.  Trying to make sense of the
senseless.  Searching for a level playing field where there were only hills
and curves.

Boone's home.  Boone's possessions.  Now all of it belonged to him.

Paul Hines had arrived at Calder on's Landing the day after the burial Simon
had refused to attend (denial had long been his strong suit).  had informed
him that he was Boone's sole beneficiary.  had assured him that all would go
smoothly through the courts.

 As if he cared about things.

The lawyer had unsuccessfully hidden his amusement when Simon had said as
much.  He'd left a package of legal papers and several sets of keys and
headed back to his office in Naples.

And Simon--compelled by a bond that few would understand--had reluctantly
left his swamp.

His first stop had been the cemetery and his twin's graveside.  No matter
that he'd arrived in the midst of a tropical storm.  He'd sat there all day,
heedless of the wind and the rain and the mud.  of any thing but the past.

Reminiscing.  reconnecting.  remembering.  None of which would bring Boone
back.

None of which gave Simon comfort.

Boone and Simon.  Simon and Boone.  identical.  interchangeable.  Like faces.
like bodies.  like psyches ?

If only the rain could have cleansed him, could have washed that question
from his mind.

If only.  appearing unannounced at Calder on Charters late that afternoon
probably wasn't the smartest move Simon had ever made.  Hell, it wasn't even
one that he wanted to make.  But the business was his now, at least until he
decided what to do with it, and with ownership came obligation.  The
employees needed some sense of continuity, not to mention the assurance of a
forthcoming paycheck.

The business was located directly on the docks at the mouth of Marco River,
where the channel spilled  into the Gulf of Mexico.  The white stucco
two-story structure with deep-blue-tiled roof sprawled about a hundred yards
from the main pier where boats of every size and description from speedboats
to luxury yachts were tied up.

The moment Simon opened the office door, all heads turned toward him, one by
one, as if in slow motion.  Eyes went wide.  Voices stilled.

Making Simon wish he were anywhere but here.

"Madre de Dios!"  came a choked female voice from the back of the room.

Simon zeroed in on the only woman present.  Young and lovely, a thick dark
plait hanging over one shoulder, she was elegant despite the simple orange
sweater and white shorts that revealed long, slender limbs.  Her features and
coloring reflected a multicultural heritage he guessed to be
CubanAngloAfrican.  Her soft brown eyes were awash with tears.

She stepped forward, her slender ringed hand outstretched in a beseeching
manner.

"Boone?"

Before Simon could correct her natural mistake, her thick lashes fluttered
wildly and she crumpled to the floor.

"Elise!"  The youngest of the men flew to her side, where he knelt and
touched her face.  His gel led crew cut practically quivered with anger as,
glaring at Simon, his tone accusing, he said,

"She's out cold."

The extreme reaction prompted Simon to assume Elise was another of Boone's
conquests.

"You're obviously the brother," an old salt said.  Big and grizzled, he
shoved his billed cap back along  his receding hairline as if to give his
rheumy blue eyes a clear field.

"Two peas in.a pod, eh?"

Exactly what Simon feared.

"Twins," he agreed.

A wizened black man in a striped T-shirt a couple of sizes too big raced to
the cooler.

"I'll get some water!"

Simon stood there, fighting his instinct to take charge of the situation.

He was the interloper.  The outsider.  And he chose to maintain the status
quo.

"Elise, it's all right."  The young man was gently patting her cheek, his
voice soft and reassuring.

"You didn't see no ghost.  It ain't Boone."

"C'mon, now, sweetheart, drink this," the skinny man said.

The men got the job done without him.  Elise finally responded and opened her
eyes.  After she took the proffered sip of water, they got her to her feet.

"Sorry," she muttered, fingers clenching the cup of water as she faced Simon.

"I-I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be.  I'm used to it."

"Having women faint on you?"

Thinking of Phoebe Grant, he said,

"Having them mistake me for my brother."

Dark shadows beneath the young woman's eyes indicated lack of rest.  And she
couldn't control the tremor in her hand as she took another sip of water.

But a moment later, appearing steadier, she made the introductions.

Elise Navarro had been Boone's assistant, and ran the everyday workings of
the office.  The old salt, Magnus Hanson, was one of the charter captains,
the  scrawny man his mate Elijah Greer.  And Corky Slotnik, a new hire
straight out of the navy, was the one who'd come to her aid.

"I'm sure you'll want to see your office," she said, leading the way to the
inner room.

' "My brother's office."

Though her expression was questioning, he didn't explain.

While smaller than the outer room, Boone's office had the same feeling of
spaciousness as his home.  Desk and bookcases of pale wood flanked a light
blue rug whose pattern was nautical.  Two slim chairs were the mates to the
executive job behind the desk, all upholstered with outlines of sailing
ships.  A long file cabinet placed against one wall was also of light wood,
and had the feel of fine furniture.  Its top surface was dotted with pieces
of coral.

But the centerpiece of the office was the oversized window opposite the desk.

Simon stood before it a moment, connecting with the blue and green ribbons of
water, the colors startling in their intensity so soon after a storm.

"Can I get you any thing?"  Elise asked.

"Not today.  I just need a few minutes alone."

Staring out at the Gulf, allowing calm to wash over him, he knew his first
moment of peace since the news of Boone's death had breached his world.

"You're going to sell, aren't you?"

Harmony shattered, Simon faced Elise, who'd stopped in the doorway.

"I

haven't decided yet.  Maybe I'll let someone else run it.  "

She nodded and backed out.

 Leaving Simon alone to contemplate the irony of his and Boone's lives.

They couldn't have been more different--or more identical.

While they'd rarely had contact as adults, they'd both lived on the water--he
in the swamp, Boone on the ocean.  They'd both made their living from
tourists and local sportsmen--he with air boats, Boone with fishing boats.

Twins, living lives that were completely separate, and yet so similar.

How deep did that sameness go?

Fearing the dark side that he'd witnessed firsthand in his twin all those
years ago, Simon was tempted to disappear back into his swamp where he could
continue to avoid the past.

But the biggest part of his past had just died by his own hand, Simon thought.

Or had he?

Could Phoebe Grant know something she wasn't telling?

For his own sake, he wanted to believe that the authorities were wrong.  that
he was wrong.  that his twin could have been a victim rather than a murderer.
Simon wondered what it would take to find out.

the blonde returned after the dinner-hour rush, just as Phoebe had expected.

One look at his newest conquest and Kevin suggested,

"Why don't you call it a night?  I can take care of things here and lock up."

 Only two other couples were lingering over drinks.  So why was she hanging
around when she could.  what?

A return trip to Boone Calder on's home was not an option.  She no longer had
the keys and if she tried breaking in, his brother might go to more drastic
measures than just asking her to leave.  He might have her arrested for
trespassing.

Simon Calder on.  closed off.  unfeeling.  At least that's what he wanted her
to think.

She couldn't forget the flicker of emotion he'd been quick to hide.  He'd
been hurting, not only from Boone's death, but from believing his twin
capable of murder.

But why would he?

A question she was certain she'd never have answered.

Phoebe started, realizing that her partner and his love interest were making
moon eyes at each other.

"You're sure you won't be too distracted to lock up?"  she asked.

Kevin grinned.

"Positive.  I'm multi talented, you know.  So go home.  Go to bed.  Sleep
late.  Don't even bother coming in tomorrow."

She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Trying to get rid of me?"

"Trying to take care of you."

"Uh-huh."  While taking care of himself.  Phoebe shook her head.

"About tomorrow" -- The thought of having yet another day to recover from the
emotional trauma of her sister's death was tempting, and  yet she feared not
working would give her too much time to think.  "--I'll let you know."

He waved her off.

"Go."

Phoebe went.  but not home.

Instead, when she jumped in her convertible, she decided to pass up home for
Dolphin's Gate, the Naples closed community where Audra had been staying in
their mother and stepfather's winter home.

The police had been there before her, of course.  While not the crime scene,
they nevertheless had searched the place, going through Audra's personal
effects and papers, loo king for some indication that all was not as it had
seemed.  They'd found exactly squat.

With failure almost a certainty, she still had nothing to lose.  No way was
she going to get at Boone's house with his brother hanging around.

At this time of night, the drive only took her about twenty minutes.

Dolphin's Gate being several miles past her own development.

Slowing as she approached the guard house, Phoebe waved to the man on duty.

He nodded.

"Miss Grant."

His normally friendly expression was sober, because of Audra, of course, and
he waved her through.  Since she'd been keeping an eye on the condo during
the off-season for years, most of the guards knew her by sight and didn't
need to check the windshield sticker.

Dolphin's Gate was a large enclave overlooking the bay--hence the name--and
its condos, townhouses and single-family homes were all wrapped around an 
eighteen-hole golf course.  Not that either her mother or her stepfather
actually played golf.  The prestige of the place with its exclusive club had
been the deciding factor for them.

Phoebe drove the winding road along grounds that were lushly landscaped and
manicured to perfection.  A dazzling setting if not as appealing to her as a
more natural one--like the pond she could watch by the hour from her own
lanai.  There vegetation grew semi- wild and helped provide sanctuary to
scores of small animals, birds and even an alligator or two.

Leaving the car in the drive, Phoebe entered the townhouse.  Designed by an
award-winning architect and decorated by a pricey firm, the place had always
left her cold.  nothing inside had been meant to convey the feeling of
warmth.  Of someone actually living there.  Rather, it looked like a model,
or perhaps something out of a magazine layout.

Phoebe turned on the lights and checked around the open living area.

The ceramic back splash in the kitchen still wasn't complete.  She'd have to
contact Jimmy Bob Dortch, see if she could light a fire under the handyman
who'd been dragging out the small job even longer than the work he'd done for
the restaurant.

Other than the tools and tiles set on a counter, not an item seemed to be out
of place.  Her mother's cleaning woman had been thorough.

Only the other day the townhouse had been in use, two of the three bedrooms
occupied by her mother and two younger sisters, who'd flown in for the
funeral.  Her sisters had bunked together, avoiding the  room Audra had been
living in.  All three had allowed themselves what they considered an
appropriate amount of grief for Audra that night, then had taken themselves
back to their own lives on early flights the very next morning.

Michelle had three small kids to care for, and Janice an errant boyfriend
whom she didn't trust as far as she could throw him.  Phoebe had never been
close to either of the younger girls, anyway, so she'd had no expectations of
them.  But her mother's leaving so soon had hurt.

Unknowing or uncaring that her daughter had needed her, her mother had said,
Harry wouldn't know what to do without me, poor man, not even for another day.

And before Harry, neither had Peter nor Russell nor Stanley.  Phoebe guessed
her own father and Audra's had received the same single-minded attention
while her mother was still married to each of them.

As Phoebe climbed the stairs to the bedrooms, she thought about her mother's
choices.

Six husbands in thirty-some years.  Four daughters, all with different
fathers.  A life of uncertainty, picking up and moving, starting over and
over and over again.  And all in the name of "love."

Why couldn't her mother have taken her relationships for what they were and
left them at that?  Why did she have to marry every man she lusted after,
turning her daughters' lives into chaos?

And why was she wasting time bemoaning what she couldn't control?  Phoebe
wondered.

Irritated with herself, she entered Audra's bedroom,  as tidy as the rest of
the house--far neater than Phoebe had ever seen it since Audra moved in.  The
cleaning woman's work, of course.

Going through drawers, inspecting her sister's effects, she tried to remain
detached.  One of the little things was her undoing.  Her eyes filled with
tears when she found the locket she'd given Audra for her sixteenth birthday.
She read the inscription on the back, then opened it and stared at their
pictures inside.  She hadn't even known Audra had kept the cheap trinket, so
at odds with the rest of her fine jewelry.

Growing up, they'd been so close.  Had rarely even argued.  Always made up
right after.  The only time Audra had stayed angry with her was over the
diary.  Deciding to see what all the secrecy was about, she'd been shocked by
the details of her sister's intimate relationship with the boy she professed
to love.

Even at fourteen, Audra had let "love" rule her life.

Just like their mother.

After that, Audra hid the diary so well that Phoebe couldn't find it,
although not for lack of trying.

The diary .  hidden.  Had to be hidden cleverly or the police would have
found it.  Phoebe had no doubt the diary would have been confiscated.  Then
some stranger would have paged through Audra's most personal thoughts.

Perhaps her sister hadn't brought the thing to Boone's house, after all,
Phoebe decided.  Too chancy that he might have gotten nosy.

Phoebe searched the bedroom and bath.  Took apart the closet.  No diary.  No
unusual hiding place.  She  headed downstairs.  While Audra hadn't used the
open living area much, she had liked the coziness of Harry's den.

They'd watched a few movies together there, had shared a few glasses of wine.
Flipping on the room light, she pictured Audra on the cushy sofa, bare feet
snuggled under a small throw she'd taken from the storage area inside a
nearby hassock.

As always, Phoebe had automatically started straightening the room.  She'd
folded up the throw and had tried putting it away, but her sister had stopped
her, had insisted on doing it herself.  Audra, the messy one, who'd always
been glad to leave the cleaning up to others.

Even then, Phoebe had thought it odd.

Pulse threading unevenly, she lifted the hassock's lid and dug down beneath
several throws and small pillows.  Her fingers touching the object at the
bottom lifted her spirits.

With a cry of triumph, Phoebe pulled the elusive diary from its hiding place.

The knowledge was instant and didn't need to be communicated verbally.  One
look into each other's eyes and we knew we wanted each other.

What matter that we'd just met?

He has the sexiest dark eyes.  bedroom eyes.  and they told me everything I
wanted to know.  An excitement I've never known before curled deep inside me.

We pretended friendliness, nothing more, and left the Blue Crab separately.

 No one had the faintest idea.  The entire drive home, my belly quivered
with anticipation and my breasts ached for his touch.  I could think of no
thing else.

He was waiting for me even as I knew he would be.  I didn't ask how he got
past the guard.  That he had and I didn't know how made it more exciting.

I felt breathless, as if this would be the very first time.  We didn't make
it across the living room to the stairs.  Oh, how shocked mother would be
that we dared abuse her new Berber carpeting as we did.

He didn't even bother taking off my clothes.  Merely reached under my dress
and ripped my 'panties free.  I've never been so excited.  I was already wet
for him, and his fingers easily slid inside me.  "Oh, boy..."

Deciding she'd had enough titillation for one night, Phoebe rose from her
bed.  She was wet herself--de- spite the air conditioning, beads of
perspiration were rolling down her back and between her breasts.  Thank
goodness she'd waited until she arrived home to crack open the diary, an
accounting that began with the passage she'd read.

As if Audra had started a new journal to celebrate the beginning of a new
life.

"Whew!  What a celebration," she muttered softly, the heat pulsing from
within making her distinctly uncomfortable.

 A swim would cool her off.

She'd had the house built to curve around the pool.  The tall sliding glass
doors of the bedroom, eating nook and living area kept the humidity out and
the air conditioning in during the hot months.  In winter, the whole house
would be open to the outside.

Undressing quickly, leaving her clothes where they fell, she snapped off the
bedroom light and slid out onto the lanai, remembering the night she'd
introduced them to each other.  Boone had been a fairly regular customer and
her sister had come around for company.

She hadn't suspected, not then.

The midnight moon silvered her surroundings as she paused at the edge of the
pool and tuned in to the night.  Lively splashes.  Insects humming.  A
glimpse of a wild rabbit.  Tiny geckos racing along the screened walls.

All mesmerized her.

She'd been mesmerized by the passage she'd read, as well.

One look into each other's eyes and we knew we wanted each other.  What
matter that we 'd just met?  He has the sexiest dark eyes.  bedroom eyes.
That particular reference had set her imagination racing.

I've never been so excited.  I was already wet for him, and his fingers
easily slid inside me.  In her mind, she'd seen Boone for an instant.  but
he'd quickly been replaced by Simon.

"Enough."

Arching, she flew into the pool without reservation, giving herself over to
the water completely.  She swam  lengths, gracefully turning at the tiled
walls without breaking her rhythm.  It didn't take much to run out of steam
tonight.  Tension released, imagination under control, she drifted to a stop
and allowed her body to hang suspended in the middle of the pool.

It was only then when she had exhausted herself and freed her mind of the
diary's seduction that she heard a rustle behind her.  Thinking a lizard or
snake had found its way into the screened area, she whipped around, her gaze
going straight for whatever danger lurked in the garden area at the far end
of the pool.

Before she could focus, a smooth, mocking voice set her straight on the
nature of her uninvited guest.

"Was that as good for you as it was for me?"

Chapter Three Phoebe flipped back, sank and swallowed a mouthful of pool
water.

Thrashing to the surface, she sputtered, "What... how did you get in?  And
when?"

Simon Calder on stepped into a patch of moonlight.  "Keys," he said, shaking
what undoubtedly were the ones she'd given Audra.

"About an hour ago."

"You were here when I got home?  Why didn't you announce yourself then?"

He indicated the garden area.

"I was waiting for you over there.  Must've dropped off.  Nice digs.
Comfortable lounge chair."

He'd been there while she'd sprawled across her bed and read Audra's diary.
While--believing she was alone--she'd stripped to the buff and had worked off
the tension the passage had awakened in her.

Had he been asleep then?

Horribly embarrassed, praying the dark had shielded her from those bedroom
eyes, Phoebe didn't really want to know for certain.

She did ask,

"What's on your mind, Mr. Calder on?"

 "Simon."  He stepped closer to the pool.

"And I'd be a lot more comfortable discussing it on an even plane.  You want
to come out or should I join you?"

Good Lord, she was buck naked, and while he couldn't see details by
moonlight, he might be able to make out that much.  She doubted that he'd
brought a suit.  The last thing in the world she needed was an in-the-buff
frolic with a man whose image she hadn't been able to excise.

"Uh, I'll come out, only... I need, uh..."

"What?"

"A towel.  They're on the rack over there," she said, pointing.

The moment Simon turned to fetch one, Phoebe shot forward to the pool's edge
in hopes of preserving as' much modesty as possible.  He was back in a flash.

"Here you go."

Taking the beach towel, she dragged it into the pool.

"Thanks."

"Don't you normally get out of the water before drying yourself off?"

"Gee, I never thought of that," she said stiffly.

Since he had to know she wasn't wearing a suit, Phoebe figured he was doing
his best to bait her.  The waterlogged terry cloth was difficult to control it
kept insisting on floating but she managed to ascend the steps at the shallow
end, dignity intact.

"You can wait out here or in the living room, if you like.  I'll only be a
few minutes."

"Need some help?"

The dare behind the words nearly took her breath away.

"I'll manage," she choked out.

 What she managed was to run trails of water over her bedroom carpeting all
the way into her bathroom.  Locking the door behind her, she traded the wet
towel for a dry one.  A brisk rub rid her of the gooseflesh that always
accompanied a night swim, even in deep summer.  She slipped into a loose
nightshirt with an alligator design that circled her body, then quickly
wrapped a dry towel around her head.  Even so, her dripping had left wet
streaks in the soft cotton.

Barefoot, she cautiously left her bathroom, half expecting the nervy Simon to
have made himself at home on her bed.  That went to show where her head was,
especially since the bed remained inviolate except for the diary.

Hurriedly, she snatched the leather- bound journal from the comforter and
slipped it into her nightstand drawer.

Through the glass doors, she could see the lights on in the living room.

Thank goodness.  Maybe Simon Calder on had tired of his games and she could
find out exactly what he wanted of her.

simon's nerves were on edge as he waited for Phoebe to emerge from her
bedroom.  He'd awakened in time to see her poised at the edge of the pool,
her slender limbs clothed in nothing but moonlight.  She'd caught him in a
vulnerable moment.  affected, he'd responded with his usual tact.

Who would blame her if she read him the riot act and showed him the door?

And now that he'd made up his mind to determine the truth about Boone--about
himself--he needed her cooperation.

 "Can I get you something to drink?"

Startled from his thoughts, he turned toward Phoebe's voice.  She hesitated
near the kitchen area.

"Soda... bottled water..  juice?"

"nothing."

As she made for the hibiscus-print chair opposite him, Simon tracked the path
of the alligator wrapping itself around her damp body.  The cloth clung to
her bottom, molding it perfectly.  As she bent over to fluff a cushion, his
groin tightened, and he forced himself to look away.

A plastic alligator crouched in the base of a potted ficus near the sliding
glass doors seemed to be staring at him through beady little eyes.

The hand-carved wooden alligator slithering along her coffee table had him in
its crosshairs.  And a sketched alligator hanging over the fireplace glared
down at him with something like animosity.

Of course, he only imagined their disapproval, Simon told himself.

Other creatures native to Florida--birds and reptiles and mammals--peered out
from every nook and cranny, as well, giving him the oddest feeling that he
was surrounded.

"I assume there's a point to your being here," Phoebe said.

He returned his attention to her.

"I've had time to think."

"About?"

"The assumption that my brother was responsible for his and your sister's
deaths."

 Her eyebrows shot up.

"I thought you agreed with the authorities."

"I did.  Maybe I still do.  Maybe my thinking you could be right is a
stretch."

Phoebe stared at him, her thick-lashed hazel eyes wide.  Another wild
creature determining his worth?  Simon shifted on the couch and wondered at
his own reaction.  Few things had the power to make him uncomfortable.

Retaliating, he absorbed every detail of her angular face, from the mole at
the corner of her left eye, down her straight nose to the surprisingly soft
curve of her lower lip.  The towel wrapped around her head framed distinctive
features that suddenly pulled into a disquieted expression.  as if she
fathomed his intent.

"What is it you want from me?"  she finally asked, voice cool.

With the damp material of her cover-up clinging to her graceful limbs,
molding to her modest breasts, provoking a hunger he hadn't fed in a while,
Simon could think of a few things that had nothing to do with family.  What
he said was

"A truce."

"I didn't know we were at war."

"Perhaps you weren't."  And the war within himself was nothing new.

"But I wasn't exactly gracious last night."

"No."

"What you see is what you get."  He wasn't being defensive.  Merely truthful.

"But if you know that going in" --  "Going in to what?"  she demanded,
exasperation now coloring her tone.

"Partnership."

"I have a partner."

Wondering if she meant business or personal--and what concern that was of
his, he couldn't say--Simon clarified.

"I meant digging for the truth."

Expression distinctly suspicious, she asked,

"You want to help me?"

"Something like that."

He was thinking more of her helping him, but putting it that way might get
her back up.  If he'd expected her to jump for joy--for a relieved smile to
erase the distrust--he would have been sorely disappointed.

"Why the sudden change of heart?"  she murmured, as if she were questioning
herself rather than him.

"This from a man who doesn't care what other people think.  Isn't that what
you told me last night?"

"I'm not doing this for other people."  When she still withheld any positive
response, he promptly shifted gears.

"Two heads are better than one, right?  And I have access to Boone's
business" -- "Which is important... why?"

"Maybe it's nothing more important than another source of information," he
admitted.

"One of the employees might have seen or heard something vital to the
situation.  My point is, together we can play all the angles."

"Play..."  she echoed softly.

"Simon, this isn't a game to me."

"Nor to me, Phoebe."

 Finally, caution still shadowing her eyes, she nodded.

"All right.

Together, then.  "

He figured she'd made a concession she found somewhat disagreeable.  And how
could he blame her?  He didn't make nice.  Didn't play by the rules.

Wouldn't pretend--or change to fit in--like his brother had.

Not wanting to lose the opening he'd gained, he asked,

"Tell me about your sister's husband."

"Vance Laughlin," Phoebe began in a neutral tone.

"Well-to-do Fort Myers businessman.  Financial adviser."  She took a breath.

"Control freak."  And allowed animosity to creep into her voice.

"He likes showing off what his money can buy.  That included Audra."

Wanting a true picture of the relationship, Simon knew he might be stepping
into quicksand when he asked,

"She married him for his money?"

Rather than being outraged, Phoebe shifted in her chair and cleared her
throat.

"I think the money was more of a side benefit than the real reason.  Audra
always went for a certain type of man.  Power was her aphrodisiac.  Too bad
she had to go and marry it."

"That didn't make her unique by any means."

' "But she was misguided, at least where it came to Vance Laughlin.  I
remember a time when she thought his overprotective act was romantic."

"And you have something against romance?"  Simon didn't know why he'd asked
the question, nor why he was so interested in Phoebe's answer.

' "Not the ideal.  Just the reality.  Just when it makes women foolish."

 He wondered if she'd ever allowed herself to be foolish where a man was
concerned.  Or was all her "experience" secondhand?

"At first, Audra was flattered that Vance wanted to know where she was at all
times," Phoebe went on.  "That he called and checked up on her, no matter
where she went.  But his possessiveness got old fast.  She tried telling him
so.  The more she fought it, the more he insisted.  Eventually, insistence
turned to accusation."

"Another man?"

"He was certain of it."

"How about you?"

"Frankly, I'm not sure.  But if there was someone, he couldn't have been
important.  Audra always told me about the important ones."

"Like Boone?"

"Eventually."

Her response made him think that, at least in the beginning, Boone and Audra
had kept their relationship secret.  undoubtedly because of Laughlin.

Audra must have feared his reprisal.

"The final straw in the marriage--what was it?"

"Audra told me she felt like someone was following her.  She faced Vance,
asked him directly about it.  He laughed, said she was imagining things.

But the feeling didn't stop.  Eventually, she ran scared.  But even with
divorce proceedings under way, she didn't feel safe.  She swore she kept
seeing familiar vehicles.  familiar faces.  "

"Was she actually being followed?"

Phoebe shrugged.

"My sister did have an active  imagination... and yet ... I wouldn't put any
thing past her husband."

Obviously not, if she thought him capable of murder.

"Maybe we ought to find out for sure."

"How?"

"From Laughlin himself."

"Oh, right, we'll just ask and he'll tell us everything we want to know."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what?"

"I'll think of a way," he promised.

"In the meantime, we shouldn't close our eyes to other possibilities.  Can
you think of anyone else in their lives who might have had a motive for
murder?"

She seemed surprised.

"If this was a crime of passion as the authorities believe, Vance is the
perfect candidate."

"What about Elise Navarro?"

"Boone's assistant?  What about her?"

"She took one look at me and made an up-close and-personal acquaintance with
the office floor.  It made me think" -- "That a woman could have done this?"

"Murder is an equal-opportunity compulsion."

"But one that women rarely act on.  And if so, then Blair Rat cliff is a more
likely candidate."  When he shrugged because the name rang no bells with him,
she clarified.

"Your brother's ex-fiancee."

Now, why should that surprise him?

"How ex?"

"Oh, about two weeks after Boone met my sister."

 A woman scorned.  If not two.  He wasn't leaving Elise out of the equation.

"I'm telling you it was Vance."

"Maybe so."  She certainly was convinced of it.  "But did Audra have any more
skeletons in her closet?"

With obvious reluctance, Phoebe said,

"Her share."

"And maybe we should do inventory."

' "She was married to Vance for nearly three years.  Those skeletons were
old."

"Unless she did have a lover on the side."

"I told you" -- "He couldn't have been important, because you didn't know
about him."

"Good memory."

"False assumption," he countered.

"If Audra did have an affair she considered meaningless, who's to say what
the man's take was?"

"You're reaching."

"And I'll keep reaching until I've exhausted every possibility."

Otherwise, why bother at all?  If he didn't do it right, he might as well
crawl back into his swamp.

"Fine," she murmured, rising.

"Speaking of exhausted..."

Getting to his feet, as well, Simon couldn't resist.  "Bedtime?"

"Sleep time."

"Pity."

Though he could tell he'd flustered her, she covered well, asking,

"What's our next step?"  while leading him to the front door.

"Why don't we leave that till morning.  Over breakfast.  You make the coffee.
I'll bring the doughnuts."

"What if I don't like doughnuts?"

"Name your poison."

"Thanks, but I'll pass.  And before you leave..."  She held out her hand.

"I'll take the keys.  You know... the ones you used to get inside."

She was spitting his own words from the night before back at him--so he added
the phrase she'd left out.

"Or you could get them for yourself."  He even held his hands away from his
pockets.

Phoebe crossed her arms and glared.

Simon was tempted to withhold them just to see what she would do.  A fleeting
thought.  He needed her trust if he was to have her cooperation.

Fishing the ring out of his pocket, he dangled the keys before her and, as
she snatched them from him, noted her palpable relief.

How naive.

As far as Simon was concerned, if he wanted inside bad enough, a lock would
be a mere inconvenience.

phoebe remained near the door for several minutes after Simon's departure.

Keys digging into her palm, she waited.  Listened.  When no vehicle engine
started up, her curiosity got the better of her.

How far had he come on foot?

She opened the door and stepped under the portico, knowing it to be a futile
gesture.  Even with the moon  silvering the landscape, she could barely make
out more than her immediate surroundings--several homes bordering the pond, a
sizeable old banyan tree dominating the opposite side of the road, a stand of
untouched cypress crowding the environs beyond.

With her housing development still in its infant stages, the grounds remained
more natural than cultivated.  There were no such things as streetlights,
thank goodness.

Though even if there were, Phoebe doubted she would spot Simon Calder on if
he chose not to be seen.

She imagined him as one with the wilderness he called home.  Able to adapt to
any condition.  Masterful at blending with his environment, whether
mangroves, grassland or hammock.

A feral being despite his predilection for sharp barbs.  A thought that sent
a shiver along Phoebe's spine.

Hating the ease with which Simon could make her uncomfortable, she was
underwhelmed by the sudden change of heart that had prompted him to stay and
give her theory a try.  Part of her wished he would disappear back into his
swamp.  But the more practical part knew she needed his help.

Bravado was all well and good, but it didn't necessarily get the job done,
and no matter how much she wanted to, she wasn't certain that she could prove
Audra and Boone had been murdered working by herself.  But with Simon's
cooperation, any thing was possible.

 Would he cooperate, though, or was he playing her for a fool?

She gazed out into nothingness imagining he was there somewhere, watching
her.  She could practically feel the power of his bedroom eyes.  Another
shiver.

Phoebe rubbed the raised flesh from her arms.  One final glance around and
she withdrew, carefully locking herself inside.  Staring at the keys she'd
demanded from Simon, she wondered how long a mere lock would deter him.  The
adrenaline that had kept her going quickly dissipating, she turned out the
lights and checked the sliding doors on the way to her bedroom.  There she
retrieved the diary from her nightstand drawer.  Rather than picking up
reading where she'd left off, however, she stared at the leather cover,
traced the embossed this pattern with a fingertip, wondered at the power of
Audra's memories.

A certain danger lay in these pages.  At least for her.

The hour was too late.  her imagination too vivid.  her real-life encounter
with Simon too fresh in her mind.

Safer reading for the light of day, Phoebe decided, setting the diary aside
until morning.

having left his pickup near a crushed-shell road outside Phoebe's
development, Simon tangled with an overgrown cypress grove, waded through a
shallow water hole and hopped a chain-link fence that  wouldn't keep a
trespasser--much less an experienced thief---off the property.

Safety was only an illusion.

He had thought himself safe in his seclusion, allowing the "real world" to
intrude just enough to make a decent living.  But the real world had come
crashing in on him with a vengeance.

First his brother's death.

Now Phoebe Grant.

He found he couldn't stop thinking about the woman, even when he tried.

Normally able to shut himself off from whatever he wished, his failure in
this regard left him with a certain unease.

Thoughts of Phoebe, of her rushing headlong into danger, plagued him all the
way back to Marco.

Once in his brother's house, however, Simon tried distracting himself from
concern for the woman by going through Boone's effects.  as she had planned
to do the night before.

What had Phoebe expected to find?

Hour after hour he sought some illumination while waiting for sleep to
beckon.  It was as if he believed he could read his brother's thoughts by
touching his things.  By osmosis.

Too bad it didn't work that way.

Things were things.  They had no life to give him.

Finished with the master suite, he went down to Boone's home office, began to
search, tried to keep Phoebe's image from crowding his mind.

He found himself more attracted to her than was comfortable.  even as his
twin had been attracted to her sister?

 Another link to Boone.

Alike.  Too alike?  Two peas in a pod.  His fingers hit something odd in the
back recesses of a desk drawer.

Something metal.  Round.  Mounted with a stone.  Withdrawing it, he stared at
what should have been a token of undying love.

He prayed they would find the answers that Phoebe expected.  Did he hold a
key in his hand?

The diamond winked at him, conspiratorial in its silence.

If the search for truth came full circle.  if Boone were guilty.  if he was
destined to repeat his twin's mistakes.  It was a possibility he refused to
consider.

Chapter Four "Jimmy Bob, we've had this conversation before," Phoebe said,
wearing her most serious expression.

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you promised you'd get right on it."

Tufts of light brown hair stood out around the handyman's receding hairline
as he crushed his billed cap to his chest.  Fortyish and built like a bull.

Jimmy Bob Dortch appeared immature and defenseless, more like an embarrassed
kid than a man who ran his own business.

So to speak.

"Didn't feel right," Jimmy Bob drawled.

"Me going' and work in' on your folks' place with what happened to Miss Audra
and all."

Of course they'd had their last little talk more than a week before Audra's
murder, but Phoebe knew she'd have to go along with his program if she was to
get anywhere.

"I appreciate your sensitivity."

Not that sensitivity would get the work done.  She'd called him at the crack
of dawn, and he'd argued he  couldn't make it into Naples that morning since
he had a job on Marco, so Phoebe had quickly switched gears and said they
could meet at the Blue Crab.

"Miss Audra... she was always real nice to me.  Even made me a sandwich one
time when I forgot my lunch."

Touched by his sad tone, Phoebe said,

"My sister was a very nice person."

"And so pretty."

"That, too."

"She shouldn'ta had to die like that.  Shoulda stayed away from that Calder
on guy!"

Startled by his sudden intensity, by the glitter in his watery blue eyes as
he muttered to himself, Phoebe caught her breath.  Jimmy Bob had been in and
out of the condo over a period of weeks.  He must have seen Audra and Boone
together sometime.  Might have heard private conversations.

Did the handyman know something that might give her a clue about her sister's
death?

"What do you mean--Audra should have stayed away from Boone Calder on?"

Jimmy Bob started, as if remembering he wasn't alone.

"No thin'!"  he said, his face going florid.  But he was crushing his cap
between white-knuckled fingers.

"Just that she's dead now.  The police said it's that man's fault!"

"Sometimes the police are wrong."

The handyman was shaking his head and backing off.

"Gotta go, now."

"Wait!"  Phoebe cried.  Then sensing he was about  to panic, she asked,

"The back splash--when can you finish?"

He was loo king everywhere but at her when he said,

"Right away.  Miss Phoebe."

Weird was the only way to describe his reaction.  as if he were afraid she
might blame him for something.  She had a feeling poking at whatever was
bothering him would only make things worse.  And undoubtedly she was
projecting about his knowing something anyway, In an attempt to settle him
down, she asked,

"What time can I expect you at Dolphin's Gate?"  in as natural a tone as she
could manage.

Not that she needed to be there.  The security office would let him in and
lock up after him.  She merely wanted him to commit himself.

"Well, today I gotta finish that painting job I told you about over to
Roberts Bay."  He met her gaze, the panic she'd seen a moment before gone.

"But I'll be right on it first thing tomorrow."

"What time?"  she asked doggedly.

"Say, ten?"

"Say eight."

"Yes, ma'am."

Phoebe sighed.  More than likely.  Jimmy Bob would arrive whenever he
pleased.  But there was only so much she could do to pressure him.  And,
after all, he'd done a creditable job updating the bathrooms at the Blue
Crab.  Kevin had handled the details, so she wasn't certain if Jimmy Bob
really was unreliable or merely unresponsive to her.

The handyman had skedaddled and she was filling  salt shakers to stall
returning home and the probable confrontation with Simon Calder on, when her
partner left his apartment above the restaurant.

Letting the door slam behind him, Kevin took a swig of coffee and sauntered
down the steps.  He was barefoot and wearing a pair of disreputable cutoffs
and a rumpled T-shirt that said Bang Me, Baby.  His hair was sleep- tousled,
and his eyes were hidden behind Ray-Bans.

"What's all the ruckus?"  he grumbled as he joined her near the wait person
station.

"You're alone?"  she returned.

"Or is the blonde still keeping your bed warm?"

A long swallow of coffee was followed by a grin.  "Hmm, interested in
details, are you?"

"Forget I asked."

"She left at daybreak so she could get some sleep.  What are you doing here?"
He hopped onto a nearby table.

"I thought you were taking the day off."

"I am.  I'm only here because Jimmy Bob and I needed to have a heart-to-heart
about that back splash he's been installing in mother's kitchen."

"Wasn't he supposed to have finished already?"

"Uh-huh," she murmured, not wanting to get into it.

Kevin had sort of pushed Jimmy Bob on her, saying the poor guy needed the
work.  He'd no doubt feel responsible if the job weren't done right.

"You never said he wasn't getting the work done."

"I've had a few other things on my mind lately," she reminded him, topping
off the last salt shaker.

"I totally forgot about it."

"Dortch is a little slow."

 "No kid ding."

"Up here, I mean."  He tapped his forehead.

"No wonder he was acting a little strange."

"Hey, he's okay working with his hands or I wouldn't have suggested you use
him.  I'll talk to him."

"I already did."  She tried to reassure him.

"Look, no big deal.  I didn't even notice the job wasn't done until last
night."

That seemed to take Kevin by surprise.  He lifted his shades, giving her a
gander at his puffy morning eyes and the furrow cutting a swath between his
brows.

"You went to Dolphin's Gate instead of home?  What for?"

Peeling as if she was defending herself, Phoebe said,

"Loo king for answers."

That morning, her hopes high, she'd flipped through Audra's diary, but it had
been like searching for a needle in a haystack.  Finding the kind of details
that would be helpful would take some time and concentration.  And the
thought of meeting Simon after another dip in her sister's erotic prose, had
made her put off the task again.

"Find any?"  Kevin asked, cutting into her thoughts.

"What?"

' "Answers."

"I'm not sure."

His mouth pulled into a grim line.

"Want to fill me in?"

Not on the diary, certainly.

 "Simon Calder on was waiting for me when I got home."

Not on the details, either.

"Are congratulations in order?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know, that stress-relief undertaking we discussed yesterday."

Ignoring the reference to her love life, Phoebe said, "Simon decided he wants
to know whether or not Boone was capable of murder, after all."

Kevin shook his head and clucked.

"He's only going to encourage you."

"He's going to do more than that.  He's going to help me."

"How?"

"We haven't worked out the details."

He gave her a long look before saying,

"Keep me informed, would you?"

"Sure.  Of course."

Though, if last night was any indication, her reports would probably have to
be edited.  Before Kevin could pressure her further, Phoebe grabbed her
shoulder bag.

"Well, if I want the day off, I should get out of here."

"So, go," he said, though without his customary animation.

And the way he was staring at her made Phoebe uncomfortable.  This wasn't
like him.  No grin.  No wisecrack.  Obviously, Kevin was worried about her,
which made her feel a little guilty at leaving him out of the loop at all.

But the sight that awaited her in the parking lot  shoved all other concerns
from mind.  Simon Calder on was slouched in the passenger seat of her
convertible.

Pulse surging, Phoebe moved toward the car.  While she could see Simon's eyes
were closed, she was certain he was awake and aware of her approach.

She stopped beside the driver's door, and arms crossed, stared in silence
until he acknowledged her presence by meeting her gaze.

Then she attacked.

"How did you know where to find me?"

"And here I thought you'd be impressed."

"Did you follow me..."  She took a quick glance around the parking lot but
spotted no vehicle other than Kevin's, "or did you hide in my trunk?"

"Try option C--deductive reasoning.  If you weren't at home, work was the
next logical place to find you."

Only she hadn't told him about the Blue Crab.  As Phoebe slid behind the
wheel, the smell of doughnuts hit her.  A glance over her shoulder revealed a
box perched in the middle of the back seat.

He said,

"We'll have to stop for that coffee since you fell down on your end."

"I told you I'd pass."

"Then we'll have to get me coffee."

In the end, she caved.  She couldn't resist fresh doughnuts any more than the
next woman.

Two purchased giant coffees and a five-minute drive later, they pulled into
the Tiger tail Beach lot.  Simon took charge of the midmorning refreshments,
while Phoebe dug into the trunk where she kept an  old blanket handy for
impromptu Gulf swims or picnics.

Shellers had beat them to the beach.  The fanatics would have been out there
before dawn, but even at this hour, a considerable number of people strolled
the tide line, stooping and sifting through the wash for whelks and
buttercups, scotch bonnets and jewel boxes, cockles and olive shells.

Others had waded through the thigh-high water to get to the sandbar that
acted as a natural breakwater.

A flock of gulls loo king for handouts dive-bombed a couple of tourists
holding up French fries, while a reddish egret stumbled like a drunk in the
shallows-- activity designed to confuse its prey.

Sighing with pleasure, Phoebe raised her face to the sun and tilted her head
so the breeze rippled through her loose hair.  An hour from now, heat would
blast the open area, but for the moment, it was heaven.

Even Simon seemed relaxed as gulls gathered around them, waiting for a sweet
treat.  He lay back on one elbow, handsome-as-sin face out to sea.  throat
long and tanned.  jaw freshly shaved, scar more visible than before.  ruffled
hair teasing his forehead.

For once, he actually appeared unthreatening.

Possibly accessible.

Yet Phoebe waited until she'd devoured three doughnuts and had washed them
down with the better part of her coffee before asking,

"So, did you figure out how to approach my brother-in-law?"

"I have a few ideas."  He sat up, suddenly all business.

"To start, might Audra have left a few things behind?"

"Almost everything," Phoebe said.

"She just wanted out."

"Then give him a call and tell him you'd like to go through Audra's things."

"What makes you imagine he'll agree?  He's not a fan of mine any more than I
am of his."

"So play emotional.  Distraught.  Helpless.  A burden on his back who isn't
going away until she gets what she wants.  Tell him you need something to
remember Audra by.  Something... that was special to you."

Thinking of the locket she'd already found, Phoebe figured she could use that
as an excuse.  Vance wouldn't keep track of something so insignificant as a
cheap trinket.  It could be anywhere for all he knew.

"I can try," she said.

"Do better than try.  Get him to agree."

"Then what?"

"Does he have domestic help?"

"Audra had a woman come in twice a week to clean... I can't imagine Vance
would have chosen to take over her duties himself."

"Then you arrange to get in when she's there.  Once you're in, I'm in.  Get
the picture?"

"Crystal clear."  Wondering if that would constitute illegal entry, Phoebe
said,

"You have more confidence in this plan than I do."

' "Do you want to prove someone other than Boone pulled the trigger or not?"

His irritation startled her.

"You know I do."

 "Did you think it would be easy?"  he asked.

"Or safe?"

Safe?  With him?

Phoebe knew that's not what he meant.  If they did stumble on some truths a
murderer was trying to hide.  The conclusion stole her breath away.

"No, but I didn't have time to think things through."

"If we don't go into this with complete confidence, what's the use?"

Knowing Simon had a point didn't make Phoebe feel better, however.  Her
stomach swirled as if she'd swallowed a couple of live snakes.  She was
starting to regret the doughnuts.

"I could use a walk," she muttered, getting up and heading for the water.

Her world suddenly narrowed, the sights and sounds around her shifting out of
focus.

Simon joined her, choosing to stay dry while she strolled in the shallows.

She took deep calming breaths and let waves wash over her feet.  The smooth
rolling motion of the water had a calming effect on her system.

"Better," she murmured.

"Keep in mind you're not alone in this anymore."

"Safety in numbers?  You have to be kid ding.  Two can die as easily as one.

I'd suggest you ask Audra and Boone.  -if they weren't already dead.  "

"Maybe they didn't see it coming."

"And we will?"

 "I'll be watching for it, and if you're real smart, you will, too."

Simon slipped his hand around hers and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

Phoebe's pulse jumped.  She was hoping he didn't notice.

That she was attracted to him was undeniable.

That he was all wrong for her equally so.

She made it a rule to keep her relationships uncomplicated if physically
satisfying and to end them cleanly before anyone got hurt.

There was nothing uncomplicated about Simon Calder on.  Intense.  brooding.
overwhelming.  He could be all of those.  Not the type to let her call the
shots, or to let something end before he deemed it over.  In the end, she
would be the one who got hurt.

She wouldn't let that happen--wouldn't follow in her mother's footsteps.

Nor in Audra's.

And yet disappointment warred with relief when Simon stopped and released her
hand.

He said,

"I found something interesting last night."  Then reached into his shirt
pocket, from which he produced what was obviously an engagement ring.  A very
expensive one, to judge by the unusual platinum setting and the size of the
diamond.  He handed it to her.

"Recognize this?"

"Should!?"

"Read the inscription."

She maneuvered the thick band until she could focus on the single word etched
inside: Forever.

A lump settled in her throat, making it difficult to ask," " You think Boone
had this made up for Audra?  "

 ' "Doubtful.  I found it thrown to the back of a desk drawer like it didn't
matter for any thing."

"Blair, then?"

"That would be my take."

Remembering the haughty society beauty's manner, Phoebe said,

"Blair didn't take rejection well.  She told people the breakup was her idea,
that Boone had never been good enough for her and that she'd finally realized
it.  I'm surprised she returned the ring."

"If Boone gave it to her in the first place.  Do you remember her wearing
one?"

She shook her head.

"I only met her a couple of times at the Blue Crab.  I don't usually look at
women's hands for engagement rings."

"What if Boone meant to give this to Blair but met Audra first?"

Speculation lent a hard edge to Simon's features.

"As his brother, wouldn't it be fitting that I give it to the woman he bought
it for?  She might even be grateful enough to let down her guard."

"Sounds like you have a plan."

"It's a way to meet Boone's ex without putting her on notice."

"What if she won't see you?"

"She'll see me."

Phoebe believed him.  If Blair Rat cliff didn't succumb to curiosity, Simon
wouldn't hesitate to invite himself.

"What do you hope to gain?"

"If I'm lucky, a little insight into her nature."

"We have a start, then.  You have your assignment and I have mine."

 Which meant she'd have the opportunity to delve into Audra's diary.

They headed back the way they'd come, picking up the blanket, refuse and--to
the disgust of protesting gulls--the few remaining doughnuts.

After placing all in the trunk and slamming the lid, she realized Simon was
staring at her, eyes lit with a speculative gleam.

"What?"  she asked.

"You could have left me a note this morning.  You knew I'd be back."

"You could have called."

"Would you have picked up?"

"Why not?"

"I make you nervous."

"Get over yourself."

Amusement played around the corners of his mouth and his bedroom gaze
resurfaced.  Phoebe figured getting into the car fast would be wise.  But
before she could make a move, Simon placed his hands on the trunk on either
side of her, effectively trapping her.

Then, without warning, he kissed her.

Her heart stilled as he slipped inside her mouth as easily as he'd slipped
inside her mind.

Her tongue reached out for his.  When their tips touched, her heart began to
race, as if playing catch up.  Her every nerve, every inner fibre, every inch
of skin was suddenly alive.  hypersensitive.  gasping for nourishment that
only he could provide.  A rush of hot blood coursed through her, fine-tuning
all her senses until they were filled only with him.

And then Simon let go of her so suddenly that  Phoebe teetered and was glad
for the car at her back.  Shocked, she stared at him until her senses righted.

"What was that for?"  she gasped.

"Just proving my point."

Only he wasn't smiling now.  Nor was she.

Uh-oh.  Phoebe was aghast.  She'd just collided with the very thing she'd
been trying her best to avoid since meeting Simon.  Try as she might to
forget the incident ever happened, however, she was only made of flesh and
blood.

Weak flesh, she amended ruefully, unable to settle down inside.  Just like
the other women in her family.

Only she was the one with sense enough to label what she was feeling for
exactly what it was, no more.  No hearts and flowers.  No pretense.

She was simply in rust with the man.

Now what was she going to do about it?

the rat cliff home proved to be a three-story contemporary mansion set in a
subtropical garden overlooking Naples Bay.  A pale coral ceramic-tile roof
topped tasteful white stucco.  The upper two floors were surrounded by a
veranda.  From what Simon could tell, every room had access to the outside.

As he pressed the door buzzer, he steeled himself against another weird
reaction from the person who answered.  But the uniformed young woman who
opened the door didn't seem to know him from Adam.

"Can I help you, sir?"  she asked pleasantly.

 "Simon Calder on.  I'm here to see Blair Rat cliff.  Is she in?"

The young woman nodded.

"Please follow me."

She led him through a media room the size of a small theater and out to the
largest lanai he'd ever seen.  One end was dotted with full-grown palm trees
whose fronds nearly reached the screened roof.

"If you'll wait, I'll alert Miss Blair."

"I'll be here."

Simon wandered through what appeared to be a living room with cushioned
rattan sofas and chairs and glass-topped tables.  Flanking either side of the
sitting area were formal gardens set around sizable sculptures, and before
him was a swimming pool with a waterfall rushing down from the hot tub above.
Though outdoors, the area was made more comfortable by misters, the finely
sprayed water droplets released by concealed valves overhead.

He'd barely taken in his surroundings when the door behind him opened.

A tall, curvaceous redhead wearing a flower-print dress barely more
substantial than a one-piece swimsuit breezed out of the house.  On seeing
him, she stopped dead.  Though her thick-lashed green eyes grew wide, she
didn't take long to find her voice.

"I don't know why I'm even the tiniest bit surprised.  He did say you were
twins."

"Then you may be the only one he told."

"Not surprising," she purred, moving closer.  "Boone and I had a very special
relationship, until that Laughlin witch decided to leave her husband and  go
after him.  Some women always want what they can't have."

"It seems that Audra did have Boone, however."

"Yes... well..."  Her shrug was nonchalant and her classically beautiful
features remained composed.  "Now she has him forever, doesn't she?"

A bit cruel considering the circumstances, Simon decided, choosing to take
the opening.

He echoed,

"Forever," then patted down his pockets as if she'd just reminded him of
something.

"The reason I'm here... one of them... was to return this to you."

He whipped out the engagement ring and handed it to her, while carefully
watching for her reaction.

Blair gave the valuable piece of jewelry little more than a glance before
pitching it onto a side table as if it were so much junk.

"Now what were those other reasons?"  she asked.

"Mainly, I wanted to meet you to say how sorry I was" -- "That Boone died?
Yes, it is a shame, isn't it?"  She sauntered to a drink cart.

"Can I offer you a glass of wine?  Something stronger?"

' "Not for me, thanks.  I was going to say how sorry I was that my brother
broke your heart."

Her expression amused, she poured a Merlot for herself.

"Do I appear to be some pitiful, brokenhearted creature?"

Actually, she appeared to be one cold cookie.  Under other circumstances,
Simon would have said so, without compunction.  But, now, because he wanted
something from her, he chose to play her carefully.

 He took a seat on one of the sofas and said, "Sometimes we cover our true
emotions."

"I assure you, Simon, my heart is intact.  Don't get me wrong.  I was quite
fond of Boone--while it lasted.  But I'm the one who broke off the
engagement."

"And from what I understand, with good reason."

Blair claimed a chair opposite him and crossed her tanned legs, allowing her
already short skirt to ride up her shapely thighs.  Her feet were bare, her
toenails painted the same shocking shade of orange as her long fingernails.
And her ankle bracelet appeared to be a thick gold ribbon, the clasp an
emerald larger than the diamond in the ring.  Matching emeralds hid her
earlobes.

"I could have defeated the witch at her own game," she was saying, "but I was
already bored with playing and I was hanging in only because it was easier.
Boone and I were well matched in the bedroom.  But in the drawing room and
the family business..."  She shrugged.

"He didn't quite measure up to Rat cliff standards, after all."

"Business?"

"Daddy is Jay Rat cliff."  When he didn't respond, she clarified.

"Jay Rat cliff Jewelers."

"I see," Simon said, though he didn't really.

The rich and famous held no fascination for him.  But Blair's background
might explain her easy contempt for the costly ring.  Undoubtedly, she was
accustomed to her pick of fine jewelry.

"Mamma and Daddy were furious when I started  seeing Boone.  I guess our
brief engagement was my way of showing them that I was my own woman."

"You're saying you used Boone?"

A smile quirked her orange-hued lips.

"We used each other, Simon.  Isn't that what grownups do?"

A rhetorical question, one he chose not to address.  "Who are you using now?"
he asked instead.

Her eyebrows arched.

"Interested?"

"Curious."

If Blair had gotten over Boone as she'd implied, surely she'd be involved
with someone else by now.

"We could discuss it later," she suggested.  "Say... over drinks?"

She was challenging him, no doubt about it.  Why?  To find out, he supposed
he'd have to take the bait.  Which presented him with a further opportunity
to delve into her psyche, to determine if she was capable of murder.

She'd already contradicted herself, first saying she and Boone had a special
relationship until Audra came into the picture, then claiming she'd only been
hanging in because it was easier.

"Make that dinner," he said, choosing to keep the upper hand.

"Tomorrow night."

"The Wharf?  It overlooks the water.  Near Tin City."

"I'll find it."

"At nine."

"Seven," he countered.

"I'm an early riser so I get to bed early."

"Don't worry," she murmured.

"That can be arranged."

Her expression reminded Simon of a cat planning to snack on an unwary,
slightly stupid mouse.

FR1;Chapter Five Uncertainty competed with loathing as Phoebe waited for
Vance Laughlin to take her call.  It galled her that she had to speak to
Audra's estranged husband at all.  It galled her that she would have to treat
the probable murderer with politeness, perhaps deference.  She only hoped she
would be convincing enough over the phone that she wouldn't actually have to
challenge him in person.

Suddenly the line came alive with his sharp, "Yeah, what do you want, Phoebe?"

Nice greeting.  not that she should have expected any better of him.

At least he wasn't pretending to be the poor, anguished widower as he had
with the police and the media after the bodies were discovered.  To the rest
of the world, he'd been the picture of abject grief.  She'd caught his act on
those video clips run on the nightly news and again at the funeral and
graveside.  For a moment, she'd thought he was going to fling himself on the
coffin.

 And part of her had wanted him to.  wouldn't have minded seeing him buried
alive.  She took a deep breath and plunged in.

"Vance, I need to talk to you about-- "

"So talk already!"

"--going through Audra's personal effects."  Another breath.

"You know, for the family."

Silence.

Butterflies fluttering through her stomach, Phoebe clenched her jaw and
waited.  Simon's advice on how to handle her brother-in-law--using feminine
wiles, as she saw it--didn't sit well with her.  But she'd already promised
herself she would do whatever was necessary.

Finally, he said,

"Tell me why I should even give you the time of day."

"I was your wife's sister."

"Who tried setting the cops on me!"

Wondering how he could know, Phoebe shrank inside.

"I merely answered their questions," she lied, heart hammering.

"They were so thorough... wanting to know about the problems in the
marriage... the spirit of the breakup.

I--I was naturally upset over Audra's death.  I truly don't remember
everything they asked or implied.  "

Vance waited a beat before saying,

"You already have access to Audra's things at your mother's place."

She thought he sounded calmer.  Had he bought her fabrication, then?  If only
she knew exactly who had told him what.

 "I'm certain you're aware that Audra didn't take all that much with her
when she left you, Vance."

Her sister had wanted her freedom and well-being more than things.  Thank
goodness.  That allowed Phoebe a pretext on which to get into her brother-in-
law's home, and hopefully, to find something that would upset the neat theory
the authorities had so readily accepted.

"What exactly do you expect to find, Phoebe?"  Vance asked smoothly.

She heard the underlying distrust in his tone.  To allay any suspicions he
might have, she drew on Simon's advice and used a purposely shaky voice.

"I--I'm not sure.  Photos... some k-keepsakes..  maybe the locket."

"" I don't remember any locket.  "

"I'm sure she didn't w-wear it anymore.  It wasn't worth any thing to anyone
but the two of us," Phoebe said.  As she stared down at the piece of
inexpensive jewelry nestled in her palm, real if unexpected tears gathered in
her eyes.  She didn't have to pretend to be emotional.

"It was my present to Audra for her sixteenth birthday."

"What makes you think she kept the damn thing?"

"Some people are sentimental.  Besides, Audra promised me she would keep it
forever."  Hating to grovel, she nevertheless said,

"Please, Vance, just cut me some slack this one time and I won't bother you
again," in a slightly whiny voice.

A longer silence.

During which all manner of thoughts flitted through Phoebe's mind, first and
foremost being whether or  not he was on to her.  If the real killer guessed
her true purpose.  Not that she could let that possibility stop her.

Then he said,

"If you must," the simple words conveying his continued reluctance if not
further suspicion.

"You're in luck.  This is one of Regina's days."  He sounded cold now.  All
business-efficient.  "I'll call the house and alert her.  What time should I
say you'll be there?"

"I'm not exactly sure."  Phoebe didn't have a clue as to when Simon would
return.

"In a couple of hours, I guess.  I have a few things I need to take care of
first.  For the Blue Crab," she added, hoping her mentioning the bar and
grill would further allay his suspicions.

"Just be out of there before I get home."

"Yes, of course."

She didn't want to see Vance any more than he wanted to see her.  They'd
disliked each other from the get-go, she because of the type of man he was,
he because of her keenness.  As if he hadn't had a thing to do with the wreck
of his own marriage, he'd actually blamed her when Audra had first left him.

And now she blamed him for her sister's death.

She was happy to end the conversation and even happier that her number-one
suspect had unknowingly given her permission to find proof of his guilt.  A
thrill of anticipation shot through her.

Then came the waiting.

Fixing herself a fruit salad for lunch, Phoebe was hoping Simon would call,
but no such luck.  She regretted not having told him to check in with her.
For  all she knew, he might not be back until it was too late to get to Fort
Myers, find what they needed and get out before her brother-in-law left his
office.  And undoubtedly hell would freeze over before Vance was so amenable
again.

A quick swim worked off some of her anxiety.  Changing into loose cotton
pants and shirt, she checked the clock.  Nearly two.  Where the heck was
Simon?  He'd better be getting the goods on Blair Rat cliff.

Not knowing what else to do with herself until he chose to show, she faced
the inevitable.

He's making life miserable for me.  Won't accept that I've left him for good.
That it's over.  That .  I have no feelings for him.  if I ever did.

Went for drinks with him.  One last try to convince him in a civilized
manner.  He saw it as his chance to woo me back into his bed, into his life.
When I resisted, he turned ugly, acted like he could force me if he wanted
to.  I told him to go to hell and got home on my own.

He doesn't care about me, really, just doesn't want to lose a trophy.

But I don't want to lose my sanity.  or my life.

Besides, I have Boone now.  Couldn't even think about letting another man
touch me.  Not that I can share that with anyone yet.  Not even with Phoebe.

Keeping our relationship clandestine has its advantages.  The secrecy itself
is too titillating to give up.  Even thinking about being with him  arouses
me.  And when I set eyes on him, my desire feels beyond bearing.  We continue
to pretend nothing more than friendliness in public, while in private any
thing goes.

Tonight we didn't wait to get home.  I excused myself for the ladies' room.

Before I could lock the door, he'd followed me inside.

What if someone figured out what we were doing?

Thinking that they might.  that maybe one of them would walk in on us.  added
a sense of urgency.  a seductive hint of danger.  This time, he took me on
the edge of the sink.  Didn't even bother to remove my panties, merely pushed
the material aside before he slid inside me.  I leaned back and wrapped my
legs around his waist and set my shoulders against the mirror so he could
push deeper and fill me completely.

Oh, does he know how to work me.  The whispered words.  that bedroom gaze.
It didn't take me long to approach the edge.  Just as I was losing it, he
reached behind me and hit the faucet handle, spraying my back with icy water.

I went up like a geyser.  The doorbell practically made Phoebe jump out of
her skin.  She fumbled with the diary and was shoving it in the bedside
drawer when the chime sounded again.

"Coming!"  she yelled.

 Heart pumping, trying to shake the effect that left her trembling inside
and feeling a little guilty besides, she somehow made her way to the front
door.  Throwing it open, she came face-to-face with Simon.

One look at her and he raised his eyebrows and lowered his sleepy-loo king
lids, as if he could tell what she'd been doing.  what she was thinking.

She was imagining him pinning her up against the edge of the sink" Can I come
in?"

"Oh.  Right."

Phoebe stepped aside and he glided into the living area, his arm brushing
hers.  She fought the weak- kneed feeling that followed.  She had to get over
this.  Stop thinking of him every time she read a diary entry.  Keep straight
in her mind that Audra's fantasies were not hers.  That Boone was not Simon,
no matter how much they looked alike.

"Did I catch you at a bad time?"

He'd caught her all right, Phoebe thought, closing the door.

"Actually, I was just reading while I was waiting to hear from you."  She
wanted to tell him about the diary less than ever.

"I talked Vance into letting me into the house."

"When?"  Simon asked.

"We should leave right away."

All the rationalization in the world proved to be nothing but a mental
exercise.  Her flesh was weak.  And deprived.  Staying sharp around Simon
would be a feat in itself.

Leaving him for a moment to slip on some sandals and fetch her shoulder bag
gave her the space to cool  down.  And to remember Audra's entry: / don't
want to lose my sanity .  or my life.  Surely they'd find something.  Then
she was all efficiency, hurrying Simon into her car, not indulging in
conversation until they were on the road.

"What about you?"  she finally asked.

"Did you get to Blair?"

His

"You could say that" held a wealth of meaning that unaccountably irritated
her.

Phoebe sneaked a glance Simon's way, but sunglasses shaded his eyes, and for
once he was wearing a poker face.  Because Blair had gotten to him as well as
his brother?  Boone had once been seduced by the society beauty.

What was to say his twin didn't have a similar taste in women?

Voice clipped, she asked,

"So what did you learn ?"

"Just that Blair Rat cliff doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve.  She's either
one cold cookie or a really talented liar."

Relaxing her death grip on the steering wheel, she murmured,

"I could have told you that."

"But I'll get another chance at her tomorrow night."

At her?

"How so?"

"We're meeting for dinner.  Her suggestion.  At least the meeting part was
hers."

"Why bother?"  she asked lightly.

"She came on to me.  It'll be interesting to see where she takes it."

Phoebe swallowed hard.  Blair Rat cliff was a gorgeous woman.  One she
couldn't compete with.  If she wanted to compete.

Which she didn't.

She snapped on the radio to a raucous Spanish- language station out of Miami.
Unfortunately, this was one time she couldn't get into the salsa beat.
Still, she hid behind the music.

And Simon didn't try to initiate any conversation all the way into Fort
Myers.  When they were only a couple of miles from their destination,
however, he reached over and hit the radio's power switch.

"What kind of setup does Laughlin have?"

"A big house on a few acres."

"No water access?"

"He hates boats."

"Sounds like that's lucky for us.  How close is the house to the road or a
neighbor?"

"More than spitting distance."

"Is there a drive?"

"A long one."

"Open?"

"Vegetation."

"What kind?"

"A hodgepodge of native plants and trees most of the way."

"Any reason I'm having to drag this information out of you?"  he finally
asked.

Phoebe flushed.

"No, of course not."  What in the world was wrong with her?

"It's just that I've never done any thing like this before.  I guess I'm a
little nervous."

"Which is understandable."

 Though she wasn't certain which made her more so--their mission or Simon
himself.

He gave her a moment of breathing space before saying,

"Once we're on the property, drive slow and I'll get out somewhere along the
way."

She glanced at him.

"I figured you could just duck low in the car and stay there until I signaled
you that it was safe to sneak into the house."

"And chance someone seeing me?"

"I thought the object was your getting inside."

"It is."

"But if I don't know where you'll be, how will j_" "I'll find you.  All you
have to do is make sure a first-floor door or accessible window is unlocked."

"Piece of cake," she muttered, already worrying how she was going to manage
that under Regina's nose.

And how would Simon get inside without alerting the cleaning woman?

Phoebe gave him details of the house's layout, so once he was in he would
know what was what.  While she was going through Audra's things, as she'd
told Vance--her purpose being very different from the one stated, of
course--Simon would be taking her brother-in-law's study apart.  She only
hoped they weren't on a fool's errand.

Turning off the main road, she tried to ease her own qualms.  But as they
slowed before the entrance to the Laughlin property, her anxiety mounted.

She gripped the steering wheel with palms that were starting to sweat.

 "Stay cool," Simon said, as if he sensed her growing distress.

"I'm trying."

She made the turn and put the car in first, barely giving it enough gas to
move up the drive.  He was craning around, getting the lay of the land.  As
she'd indicated, both sides of the drive were lined with growth, low-growing
sea oats giving way to strangler figs, gumbo limbo and live oak.

Not a soul was in sight.

"Tell me when."

"That curve just ahead..."

His hand went to the door handle and her foot came off the accelerator,
slowing them even more.  When she heard the catch release, she gently tapped
the brake, urging the car to a near standstill.  He flashed out of the
still-rolling vehicle, slamming the door closed behind him.  He made straight
for the foliage on his side of the road and disappeared so quickly she might
have imagined the scenario.

She put her foot back on the accelerator, but barely gave the car gas.

Better to maintain a steady slow speed than rouse any suspicions, in case
someone was around and tracking her movements.

A moment later, the house became visible.  As always, Phoebe remained unmoved
by its similarity to an old plantation manor fronted by two-story white
columns.  The only other car in sight was Regina's subcompact, which she'd
left outside the garage.  Relieved that no one else was around, she parked
the convertible on the wide circular drive, which seemed designed for a
carriage drawn by a team of horses.

 Before Phoebe had a chance to ring the bell, the front door opened to
reveal a wiry woman whose small stature disguised her strength.  For once,
Regina wasn't smiling.  Her dark face was drawn into a sad expression.

"Mr.  Laughlin said to expect you."

"Hello, Regina."  Phoebe entered the house she'd hoped never to set foot in
again.

"This is a sad time for you," the cleaning woman said as she closed the door.

"And me.  I liked Miss Audra a whole lot."

"She liked you, too."

"She was always kind to me.  Respectful," Regina added.

"Not like some."

Though she didn't name him, Phoebe figured the woman meant Vance.  Phoebe
doubted that her brother-in-law was kind or sincerely respectful toward
anyone.

"Where did Mr. Laughlin store my sister's things?"

"Store?  He ain't touched no thin'.  Every thin's like it was when Miss Audra
moved out.  He even made me keep her rooms spit-and-polish clean--like he
figured she was gonna come back any time."

While her sister had shared the master suite with her husband at night,
Phoebe knew she'd had her own dressing room and bath, plus a dayroom
downstairs.

"Well, then, I don't have to sort through boxes."

"Nope.  Miss, if you want me to help you, all you gotta do is ask.  You tell
me what you're loo kin' for and I can most probably find it for you."

If only.   "I'm not even sure what, Regina.  I just want a few things to
remember her by."  Phoebe grew edgy.  She hated lying to someone so sincere.

"I really need to do this for myself, but thank you."

"I understand " "Besides, this is a big house.  I'm sure you still have a lot
to do and I know how particular Mr. Laughlin can be.  I wouldn't want him
angry with you."

"Me, neither," the woman muttered.

"I'll be getting back to the kitchen, then.  Can I get you any thin'?
Something cool to sip?"

"I'm fine."

Phoebe nearly collapsed with relief when Regina finally left her alone.

She waited until the woman was out of sight before sneaking into the great
room, where Vance's taste reigned.  Instead of a light or bright decor that
would go with the sunny space, he'd insisted on heavy woods, darker rugs and
traditional muted upholstery patterns.  The effect was funereal.

And the air conditioning was set so high that Phoebe could imagine it being
cold enough to store a corpse.  Audra had avoided the room whenever possible
and Phoebe didn't blame her.

Able to hear faint strains of Regina's singing coming from the kitchen, she
opened a set of French doors and stood fixed, trying to spot Simon.  Humid
heat assaulted her from the front while the room's conditioned air chilled
her back.  The effect was odd and disturbing, unexpectedly reminding her of
Audra's water-faucet experience.

 Reminding her of Simon.

Senses swimming, she felt as if his gaze had found her and those bedroom eyes
were pinning her with their intensity.  undressing her.  "Oh, no...!"
Realizing that it was happening again, she grimaced.  She had to stop this,
had to concentrate on what was important.  She couldn't afford to be
distracted this way.

But try as she might, Phoebe couldn't tell if Simon was in position yet.

Plenty of cover on this side of the house.  He'd merely have to chance an
open expanse of several yards.

Silently urging him to show his face, she realized he was probably just being
extra cautious.  All she could do was hope that he'd spotted her.  She backed
into the house, pulling the doors shut but leaving them unlocked.

She stared through the glass.

Still seeing nothing of the man who plagued her, Phoebe finally turned
toward the stairs that would take her to Audra's old dressing room.

simon waited until Phoebe disappeared inside before considering an approach
to the house.  His antenna raised, he sensed no threat, yet he took one last
thorough look around before stepping from his camouflage and out into the
sunlight.

A few seconds of exposure brought him to the French doors, which opened
easily and silently.  He slipped inside.  Ears tuned to the most minute
sound, he placed the cleaning woman somewhere off to the right.

He veered to the left.

 Phoebe's description of the house's layout had been precise.  Quickly
finding Laughlin's office, he gazed around a room even darker and colder than
the one he'd just left.

Where to begin?

From what he could see, the cleaning woman had already finished in here.

Every thing seemed in order.

No stacks of files on the credenza.  -no scraps of note paper on the desk.
no Post-its attached to the computer monitor.  Simon turned to the desk
calendar.

He checked over every entry made during the past several months, day by day,
found nothing unusual, then checked again to be certain.

The desk drawers were equally neat.  Equally uninformative.

Same with the file cabinets.

Simon knew a moment's despair.  Perhaps there was nothing to find?  Then he
chastised himself for expecting too much, too soon.  He was becoming more
anxious than Phoebe.

But his stake in this was more urgent, more personal than hers.  He wasn't
only beginning to bet on his brother's innocence.  By virtue of their
oneness, and theirs was possibly the closest connection one person could have
with another, he was betting on himself.

A ceiling-to-floor bookcase backed the desk.  He pulled a volume free.

Perfect condition, as if it hadn't ever been touched.  Was Laughlin that
careful, then?  With all his possessions?  With Audra?

Or only with those that didn't matter?

 The books, too, were perfectly aligned by size and type, enough to fill
each shelf from side to side.  In the midst of concentrating his attention
elsewhere, Simon hesitated and turned back to the book wall.

There was something out of place.  He focused on several volumes at one end
of the shelf directly above eye level and immediately saw what it was that
bothered him about them.  They protruded a quarter of an inch forward from
their neighbors.

How odd.  He hesitated barely a moment before reaching for the tomes, freeing
them from their perch.  His pulse quickened as their secret was revealed.
They'd been hiding a large manila envelope that stood flat against the back
of the bookcase.

"Well, what do we have here?"  he murmured.

Simon abandoned his armload of books on the desk, not bothering to catch one
that slid across its polished surface and knocked a tray of paper clips to
the carpeted floor.  Instead, he reached for the padded mailer that had been
purposely hidden from view.

The typed label on its face gave up Vance Laughlin name and an unfamiliar
Fort Myers address.  No doubt the man's office.  No return information, of
course.  And across the packet's front.  Photos: Do Not Bend was stamped in
red ink.

Telling himself not to expect any thing of value, Simon inspected the
envelope's contents.

Which reassured him they might very well be on the right track.   of all the
things she might have found, Phoebe hadn't expected a second diary.  One
quick flip through the handwritten pages and she shoved the leather-bound
journal into the bottom of her shoulder bag.

Another thing she would keep from Simon.

Her secrecy would be justified, Phoebe assured herself.  If she shared this
with him, he would suspect a more current chronicle existed.  And unless she
found some proof of Vance's guilt within its pages, she
couldn't--wouldn't--share her sister's most private thoughts with anyone.

Especially not with Simon.

Because somehow, he would know.

He'd take one look at her and.  Phoebe pulled herself together.

She'd gone through the dressing room carefully but had found nothing
significant before lifting the shoe box that had felt too heavy for shoes.

She replaced the sandals that had topped the diary and returned the box to
its shelf before checking the others.

Then finished with her search, she headed downstairs for the day room.

Having heard no untoward ruckus, she assumed Simon had gotten into Vance's
study without incident.  Had he found any thing of significance?  Tempted to
check on him, she paused at the study door.

Before she could put hand to knob, however, a warning creak twirled her
around to face the very man she'd been hoping to avoid.  He towered over her,
his gray eyes deadly cold as they pinned her to the spot.

"Vance!"  Phoebe gasped.

Dear Lord, they were trapped by the murderer!

Chapter Six Loud enough to be heard even through a thick wooden door, Phoebe
said, "Oh, good grief, Vance, you startled me."  Hoping to convince him, she
threw a dramatic hand to her breast as if trying to still her madly pumping
heart.

"I really wasn't expecting to see you."

"Obviously not."

"I mean I ... uh, know I was supposed be gone by the time you got home."

"I left the office early."

Purposely, no doubt.

His expression chilled Phoebe.  Why hadn't Audra noticed how cruel his smile
could be before marrying the creep?  Instead, she'd been blinded by his
smooth good looks, his meticulous appearance and his powerful aura.

Phoebe was certain that she hadn't tamed his suspicions, though.  He'd
obviously meant to catch her "in the act" all along.  She'd have to outfox
him.  Despite the silver at his temples (evidence of the probable decade he
had on Simon), he kept himself  in top shape.  And who was to say he wasn't
carrying a gun?  Either way, he could do damage to them both.

Look what he'd done to Audra and Boone.  Innocently, she murmured,

"I didn't hear your car pull up," in hopes of distracting him.

He ignored her feeble attempt.

"I thought maybe you needed some help."

Vance Laughlin volunteering to help her?  Not bloody likely.  She went along
with his ploy, though, indicating the door several yards along.

' "I was just about to see what I could find in Audra's day room."

"Funny.  It looked as if you were more interested in my study."  Gray eyes
flat, he smoothly asked, "What did you hope to find, Phoebe?"

Her heart hammered faster.  It was all she could do not to turn tail and
escape to her car.  But she had Simon to think of.  She'd gotten him into
this.  "In your study?  nothing."

Vance was already opening the door.

"Why don't we see?  Together."

Her heart beat its way out of her chest and into her throat where it
threatened to choke her.  From the corner of her eye, she caught Regina
standing at the end of the hall, gaping at her.  Swallowing hard, Phoebe
followed Vance inside, darting her gaze from one dark corner to another.

No sign of Simon.

Had he been there at all?

Vance, too, was slowly loo king around, seemingly checking over every object.
Knowing how particular he was--Audra had claimed that if one item were out 
of place he would immediately notice--she studied him for any reaction.

For a moment, his gaze lingered on the bookshelf behind his desk.  Phoebe's
gaze followed his.  What in the world had his attention?  She caught herself
holding her breath.

Finally, he turned back to her.

"Did you find what you were loo king for?"

"What?"

He was accusing her.  and she was trying to appear innocent.  Trying being
the operative word.

"That piece of jewelry you gave Audra," he said.  "That's what you indicated
you hoped to recover."

"Jewelry?"  Phoebe echoed.

Fear was disorienting her, making her stupid.  She couldn't seem to focus her
thoughts.

"A locket, wasn't it?"

"Locket.  Right."  She shoved a hand into her pants pocket and pulled out the
treasure, which, fortunately, she'd brought with her.

"Here it is."

"I've never seen that before."

He grabbed the locket and chain from her hand.  First he read the message
inscribed on the back of the heart.  Then he flicked it open with a perfectly
manicured thumb nail and glanced at the aged photographs inside.

Though he remained expressionless, Phoebe would swear he was disappointed.

He threw the trinket back at her.  Gasping, Phoebe caught it even as the
pressure released from her chest like the air out of a pricked balloon.

 "Since you've found what you were loo king for, you can leave," he informed
her.

"But the day room" -- "Holds nothing for you."  He started toward the door,
then stopped.

Something on the floor near the desk caught his attention.  He bent at the
waist.

"Now how did that get there?"  He quickly straightened, paper clip in hand.

"You wouldn't know any thing about this?"

No need to feign surprise.

"A paper clip?"

"This wasn't on the floor when I left this morning."

She shrugged.

"Don't look at me.  This is the first I've been in your office."

' "Is there anyone else in this house?"

About to deny it, she was preempted.

"Me."  The cleaning woman stood in the doorway, dark eyes wide, her already
thin body seeming narrower somehow.

"Sorry, Mr. Laughlin.  I--I knocked over the tray when I was dustin'.  Musta
missed pick in' up one of them critters."

Certain Regina was lying for her, Phoebe went wide-eyed herself.  She hadn't
been in here before.  Which meant that Simon had!  Considering his purpose,
could he have gotten in and out so fast?

Where in the heck was he?

As Phoebe covertly peered around again, this time for some other exit, Vance
said,

"Very careless of you, Regina."

"Yes sir."

The windows?

"See that it doesn't happen again."

 "Yes sir."

The windows appeared secured to her.

Anger waned with disappointment in his face as Vance spun toward Phoebe and
bellowed,

"As for you" -- "Consider me gone."

She whipped past Regina fast.  Not fast enough to miss the satisfied quirk of
the other woman's lips, though.

Regina knew.

Whether the cleaning woman had actually seen Simon or had merely sensed
Phoebe's underlying purpose, she had no way of telling.  And this was not the
time to ask.

Grateful for the woman's intervention, whatever her motive, Phoebe vowed to
repay her somehow.

In the meantime, where was Simon?

And where was Vance's car?  Not in the drive.  And Regina's car still blocked
the entry to the garage.

Vance had purposely left his car away from the house, maybe on the old shell
road used by tradesmen, so he wouldn't alert her.

His deviousness certainly pointed to his guilt.

Clambering behind the wheel and starting the engine, she kept an eye out for
some trace of Simon as she pulled away from the house.  nothing.  Again she
drove slowly along the same route to the main road.

What if Simon was trapped in the house with Vance?

Phoebe prayed the man would have the sense to stay hidden for as long as it
took Vance to leave.  Then what?  How would he get away?

 She couldn't hang around, waiting for him at the entrance to the property.

Once away from the house, she craned around in hopes of spotting him through
the thick growth.  She was intent on the trees to the left when a sudden
movement to the right made her whip around, jerking the wheel in the process.

"Simon!"  she gasped.

Even as she swerved, he managed to hop directly over the passenger door and
into the convertible.

"That was close," he said as she wrestled the car back under control.

"I

thought Laughlin wasn't supposed to be home.  "

"That was the idea.  He wanted me to believe it so I wouldn't be on guard."

Relieved that he'd made it out of the place without running into Vance, she
glanced his way.  He seemed more relaxed than she was feeling.

"How close?"

"Another ten seconds and we would have been playing out a whole different
scenario with the man."

An idea that made Phoebe a little woozy.

"Thank God that didn't happen.  Wait a minute... what if he follows me?"

"By the time he changes the flat tire, we'll be long gone."

"Flat tire?"  she echoed, suddenly smiling.

"You found his car."

"Did I say that?"

He didn't have to.  The startling grin splitting Simon's face was proof
enough.

Leaving the property behind, Phoebe was starting to relax when he asked, "So,
did you find any thing?"

 The second diary at the bottom of her bag made her shift in her seat.  She
gave him a noncommittal shrug.

"Did you?"

"When you get back on the highway, find some place to pull over."

"Was that a yes?"

"Someplace discreet."

Five minutes later, Phoebe pulled into a large strip mall and parked amidst a
sea of cars.

"So tell me," she demanded.

"Laughlin hid an envelope behind some books," he said, undoing the top button
of his shirt.

"No wonder he was staring at that bookcase so intently!"

"I figured it would be in your best interests to leave everything the way I
found it.  Including the envelope, just in case he got suspicious enough to
check for it.  But I smuggled this out."

He pulled an eight-by-ten glossy from the confines of his shirt.

Audra in Boone's arms.

"She wasn't imagining it," Phoebe said softly, noting the unfamiliar setting.

Considering she could see the fan section of an airboat, the couple had to be
embracing on a dock in the Glades.  Behind them, a small weatherworn house
stood on stilts that would take it above the rise of water even during the
wettest of seasons.  A love nest?

Something else Audra hadn't told her about.

"Vance was having Audra followed, then, just like she said.  Spied on.

Photographed.  This is proof of his obsession with her.  "

 "The police may not see a photograph of his wife and her lover as any thing
more significant than evidence for divorce proceedings."

"But he didn't want a divorce."

"Doesn't matter.  He could say he knew the divorce was inevitable and he
figured he needed some insurance so the judge would side with him when it
came time to the financial settlement."

Phoebe didn't want to believe that their first real break was of no value.

"But if we could get the investigator to talk, maybe he could give us
something more substantial to use."

"No return address on the envelope."

Her spirits plummeted.

"So we don't even know who took them."

"I didn't say that exactly.  On the back of one of the photos, someone
scrawled a number and a message to call Bubba at eight."

"So what are we waiting for?  Let's find a phone and call this Bubba person."

"Don't get your hopes up too high.  Bubba might not be talking.  Or it could
be nothing."

"And it could be something."

Besides, she had already been as low as she could get.  Up was the only
option left open to her.

the phone number turned out to be that of the Osprey Nest, a bar on the road
to Everglades City.  Since he lived in the general vicinity, Simon knew the
place.  And being more or less acquainted with the bartender made it fairly
easy to learn that Bubba was a regular.

 On the walk back to her car, he related all that to Phoebe and promised,
"I'll check it out tonight."

"You mean we, don't you?"

"If I meant we, I would have said so."

"What's the problem, Simon?"

She was the problem.  Too headstrong.  too daring.  too tempting.  She
distracted him, and knowing the sort of clientele that frequented the Osprey
Nest, he suspected he'd need all his faculties honed on his purpose.

What he told her was,

"No need for both of us to cover the same tracks."

"I have nothing better to do with my evening."

When he said,

"Try catching up on your reading," she started, and a becoming blush crept up
her neck and into her cheeks.

For a moment, she seemed dumbfounded, and something more--guilty?  --then she
pulled her eyebrows together and glared at him.

"You have something against my company?"

"Not at all."

"Then, what?"

"The Osprey Nest is..."

"What?  A bar?  I'm half owner of a bar and grill, remember."

"I was going to say primitive."

Bikers and swampers together in the same bar could mean a volatile mix.

"You think I can't handle myself."

"No.  I'm afraid you will.  I don't want trouble."

Her mouth gaped open, but she snapped it shut just as quickly.

 "Good, we're agreed, then," he said before she could regain her wits.

"Right," she said sweetly.

"We'll each go on our own."

"Phoebe!  You're being impossible."

"One of my best qualities."

Simon could tell he wasn't getting anywhere with this hardheaded woman.  If
he didn't take her with him, he feared she would make good on her threat.

Having her under his thumb rated slightly above her showing up as a loose
cannon.

Still, unused to caving, he narrowed his gaze at her.  "Where will I find
you?"  He needed to get the upper hand in some way.

"When?"

"You have to eat."

"Then meet me at the Blue Crab."  Turning a guileless smile on him, she added,

"You are familiar with the place, aren't you?"

She was teasing him about showing up there unannounced that morning.  Simon
chose not to react, merely saying,

"At eight."

Which would give Bubba plenty of time to get to Osprey Nest before them.

Assuming the man would be there at all.

"Make it seven," she said.

"Why so early?"

"You have to eat, too."

The verbal byplay reminding him of his earlier go- around with Blair.

Then, again, he'd won that one.   having several hours to kill, Simon
decided to spend them at Calder on Charters, ostensibly to learn more about
the business, but in reality to get better acquainted with Elise Navarro.  He
suspected she still had much stronger feelings for Boone than his ex- fiancee
had ever had.

Elijah Greer, the wizened black man who'd given Elise water when she had her
fainting spell, was in her office when Simon tapped at the door.

Seeing Simon, Elijah frowned and slid off the desk, where he'd been sitting.
He said something to Elise in a low tone, then made for the exit, barely
nodding at Simon as he went.

"You have messages."

Wondering how anyone could know he would be there, he asked,

"Who from?"

"A vendor.  Boone's lawyer.  And Blair Rat cliff."

He didn't miss the slight shift in Elise's expression at the mention of the
other woman.  She picked at the half-eaten lunch at her elbow.

"Blair called?"  he mused aloud, just to get her reaction.

"She wanted you to know something came up and she couldn't meet you at seven
for dinner tomorrow night, after all."  Elise couldn't quite mask her
disapproval.

"She said to make it at nine instead."

The time Blair had wanted to meet in the first place.  So he hadn't actually
won any thing at all in that corner, Simon thought wryly.  Though Elise's
curiosity certainly seemed piqued.  Now that could be promising.

Choosing to make the most of the opportunity, he parked himself on the edge
of the desk in front of hers.

"Tell me about my brother's ex-fiancee."

"She's rich and, unless you're blind, you know she's model-beai'tiful,"

Elise said as if she'd compared herself and felt she'd come up lacking.

"I wasn't asking about the obvious."

"What, then?"

"I was wondering what went wrong between her and Boone?  Before Audra," he
qualified.

Elise toyed with a sandwich half, showing a greater interest in the food than
Simon figured she really had.  Because she didn't relish thinking about
Boone's relationship with another woman?

Then, as if making up her mind to satisfy his curiosity, she set down the
food and said,

"Your brother wasn't ambitious enough to satisfy Blair's daddy.  And she
couldn't make him toe the line."

"What line?"

"Name it.  Every thing had to be her way.  She wasn't interested in what
Boone wanted, whether it had to do with business... or their wedding plans."
Her expression hardening her pretty features, she added,

"Blair Rat cliff is what we common folk call a royal bitch."

Not having expected her to be so direct, Simon arched his eyebrows.

"But tell me how you really feel."

Elise's bronzed face grew ruddy.

"Sorry.  I assumed you wanted honesty."

"Honesty is what I want."

But how much would she give him?

 If he asked her directly about her own relationship to Boone, would she
deny there had been any thing personal between them?

He said,

"Even so, Boone obviously loved Blair.  I found the engagement ring last
night.  The inscription said it all.  Forever..."

She smirked.

"That doesn't tell you a thing about the way it really was."

"What makes you say that?"

"Boone had nothing to do with that ring but pay for it.  Blair's daddy is
this big-deal, world-famous jeweler.  She had the ring custom-designed for
herself and had the bill sent to your brother.  You have to appreciate the
irony when the bill arrived, Boone was trying to figure out how to break it
off with her nice and clean."

"Was that before or after he met Audra?"

"Before... I I guess."

Elise appeared uncertain.  Did that mean she wasn't as privy to his brother's
life as he'd suspected.  or that Boone had been trying to keep his affair
with Audra quiet since both Blair and Laughlin continued to be part of the
picture?  Blair had indicated Audra had come between her and Boone, but that
could have been part of her face-saving routine.

"My brother must've been pretty ticked to tell you about the ring."

"Boone told me lots of things," she murmured, sounding a little lost.

"We were... close."

How close?

Simon didn't want to put her on guard by asking.

 He figured if he played it smart, she'd eventually tell him what he wanted
to know.  one way or the other.

"Odd," he said instead.

"What?"

"About the inscription, I mean.  Why would Blair have the sentiment Forever
engraved in the ring if she was dissatisfied enough with the relationship to
end it?"

"Blair told you she broke the engagement?"  Elise sounded strangled.

"Oh, add liar to bitch!  You should have heard her when he told her it was
over she was fit to be tied!  She said no man humiliated her and got away
with it.  She also said he'd be sorry."

"My brother told you all this?"

"I heard it with my own ears."

"An interesting turn of events.

"Then he broke the news to her here at the office."

"No, at the house."  Her hazel eyes widened slightly.

"Um, I'd stopped by to drop off some work," she said unconvincingly.

"Blair didn't know I was in the other room.  She goaded Boone-.-and he
must've gotten angry enough to forget about me when he finally gave her the
boot."

Simon thought about the open layout of the first floor of his brother's home.
What other room?  The bathroom?  Or had she been waiting for him in a room
upstairs.  like the master bedroom?

With his suspicions about Boone and his attractive assistant pretty much
confirmed, he asked,

"Did she ever carry through with her threat?"

"Threat?"  she echoed.

"To make him sorry?"

 Suddenly seeming uncomfortable, she shrugged.  "I--I have no idea."

"Boone never mentioned any thing?"

Elise's thick dark eyebrows furrowed.

"Why is it you're suddenly sounding like a cop?"

"My apologies.  I got caught up in your story, I guess.  You can't blame me
for being curious."

But she wasn't so easily appeased.

"A little late to get interested in your brother, isn't it?"

The criticism being his invitation to leave it be for the moment.

Only Simon couldn't.

Even though he knew Boone might have done it-- knew his brother had been
capable of watching a person whom he loved die--Simon wished with all his
soul to prove that this time, Boone had been the victim.

"I loved my brother more than anyone in the world."

Elise appeared disbelieving.

"That's why you never showed your face around here."

"We had our differences."

"You didn't even come to his funeral, but you're quick enough to grab onto
his estate."

Coldly angry, he informed her,

"His house... this business... they mean nothing to me."

"Then why are you here?  Why aren't you hiding in your swamp as usual?"

"Because I want to find the murderer."  The words were out of his mouth too
quickly.

"Murderer?"  Elise went wide-eyed.

Not exactly subtle, Calder on.

 Then, again, perhaps this situation didn't call for subtlety.  Perhaps the
shock value would give him an edge.

"Murderer.  As in the person who killed Boone.  And Audra.  Or do you, his
good friend, really believe he did it?"

"But the authorities" -- "Adopted an easy theory."

Was Elise nervous or just shocked at his revelation?  Her face had paled, and
her arms were crossed around her middle as if she was holding herself
together.  Simon hadn't forgotten her first reaction to him.

"No telling how hard the police are working on finding other suspects."  He
slid away from the desk.  "I'd better get to those messages."

And figure out a way to get to the woman who might know more about his
brother's death than she was letting on.

"You might as well eat without him, Pheebs," Kevin suggested as he poured
beers for what looked to be an entire football team, "or the food'11 get
cold."

Almost eight and no Simon.

Kevin had done his best to mellow her mood, but Phoebe's patience was worn
thin.  Defiantly, she grabbed a giant shrimp from the seafood platter she'd
had prepared specially for them and stuck it into her mouth whole.

"Great," she muttered over her mouthful, "it's just about cold already."

 And she'd lost her appetite waiting.  The shrimp went down hard and settled
like a rock in her stomach.  She'd given Simon the benefit of the doubt when
he hadn't appeared at seven, had even waited an extra half hour before
telling the cook to start her order.  He'd made them a huge platter of his
specialties-- garlic shrimp, deep-fried conch fritters with cilantro- lime
sauce and pan-fried oysters, all arranged beautifully on a bed of rice pilaf
and garnished with fresh chunks of pineapple and mango.

To think she'd wanted to impress Simon Calder on.  And why?  Because she
couldn't stop thinking about the man, couldn't stop feeling his bedroom gaze
on her.  Crazed hormones were responsible.

Lust, pure and simple.

Now Simon was so late that Phoebe suspected he was on his way to Osprey Nest
without her.  Which probably had been his plan all along.  Disappointed and
angry, she was trying to decide on her next move.

Kevin said,

"Maybe Calder on's not showing is for the best.  I mean, it sounds like he's
trying to protect you, Pheebs.  Why fight it?"

She glared at her partner.

"I don't need protection from anyone."

"How about from yourself?"

Practically the same thing Simon had implied.

If he was so concerned, why had he left her to her own devices after she'd
threatened to go alone?

"Do you realize how annoying you can be?"  she snapped.

"Hey, I'm on your side," Kevin reminded her.

 "The Osprey Nest isn't any thing like the Blue Crab.  I know that place.

It's pretty rough.  "

Again, like Simon!

"So what's the worst that can happen to me there?"

"Use your imagination.  Look what happened to Audra."

Phoebe didn't want to.  But a flash of her sister floating facedown in the
pool, her lifeblood seeping into the water, came to her anyway.

Swallowing hard, she said,

"Audra wasn't at that bar when she died."

"But would you ever have believed anyone would murder her?  And she was
someplace you undoubtedly considered safe."

"She wasn't about to admit he had a valid point, of course, but Phoebe was
getting more upset by the moment.  She bit into a conch fritter as she slid
off the bar stool.  Her mind was made up.  She was going to the Osprey
Nest--alone.

"I don't know why I tell you any thing."

"Because you know I care about you... even if you sometimes don't have any
more sense than one of those shellfish you like so much."

"Thanks loads."

Kevin reached over the bar and gently clasped onto her wrist.

"Give it up, Pheebs, please."

His expression was beseeching, as if he really did fear something bad might
happen to her.  She pulled her arm away.

"I can't give it up."

"Why not?"  he persisted, suddenly sounding angry

"Why won't you leave the investigation to the professionals, when that's what
they're paid to do?"

"Because finding the truth about Audra's murder isn't a job to me like it is
to them, Kevin.  It's personal."  Why couldn't he understand?

"I lost one of the best parts of my life.  I won't rest until I know why."

Kevin didn't say any thing more, merely stared at her, his expression now
reflecting her own anger and frustration back at her.

A weird feeling suddenly gripped Phoebe, an impression that Kevin's reaction
was too strong.  He cared about her, of course, but could more be involved
here?  Surely not.  Surely he was only being a good friend.

Sighing, Phoebe turned away from him only to walk straight into a man drawing
up behind her.

Hands gripping her upper arms to steady her, he asked,

"Going somewhere without me?"

Chapter Seven Gaping at Simon, Phoebe wasn't certain how to react to his
arrival.

He was loo king more tempting than she'd ever seen him--tight, worn jeans and
a thin T-shirt emphasizing a-body that had been honed to near perfection,
undoubtedly by physical labor.  (She couldn't visualize him working out in a
gym.  ) A sweep of dark hair grazed his forehead and dramatized the dark
intensity of his deep set, hooded eyes.

Heart pounding, washed by a sense of relief that he hadn't made a fool of
her, after all, Phoebe chose anger to mask her reaction.

"You!"  she said accusingly.

"I thought" -- "I can only imagine," he said dryly.

"What?  It's strictly a woman's prerogative to be late?"

She nearly bit her tongue after saying,

"You could have called--dinner's cold."  The second time that day she'd
sounded pathetically like a wife.

He glanced at the platter.

"But it still looks pretty good to me.  How about throwing it in a container.
We can eat while we drive."

 gry.

"Why won't you leave the investigation to the professionals, when that's what
they're paid to do?"

"Because finding the truth about Audra's murder isn't a job to me like it is
to them, Kevin.  It's personal."  Why couldn't he understand?

"I lost one of the best parts of my life.  I won't rest until I know why."

Kevin didn't say any thing more, merely stared at her, his expression now
reflecting her own anger and frustration back at her.

A weird feeling suddenly gripped Phoebe, an impression that Kevin's reaction
was too strong.  He cared about her, of course, but could more be involved
here?  Surely not.  Surely he was only being a good friend.

Sighing, Phoebe turned away from him only to walk straight into a man drawing
up behind her.

Hands gripping her upper arms to steady her, he asked,

"Going somewhere without me?"

 Gaping at Simon, Phoebe wasn't certain how to react to his arrival.

He was loo king more tempting than she'd ever seen him--tight, worn jeans and
a thin T-shirt emphasizing a-body that had been honed to near perfection,
undoubtedly by physical labor.  (She couldn't visualize him working out in a
gym.  ) A sweep of dark hair grazed his forehead and dramatized the dark
intensity of his deep set, hooded eyes.

Heart pounding, washed by a sense of relief that he hadn't made a fool of
her, after all, Phoebe chose anger to mask her reaction.

"You!"  she said accusingly.

"I thought" -- "I can only imagine," he said dryly.

"What?  It's strictly a woman's prerogative to be late?"

She nearly bit her tongue after saying,

"You could have called--dinner's cold."  The second time that day she'd
sounded pathetically like a wife.

He glanced at the platter.

"But it still looks pretty good to me.  How about throwing it in a container.
We can eat while we drive."

 Phoebe realized this was a defining moment in their working relationship.

She could choose to verbally string him up by his ears about being late, or
she could choose to be as cooperative as she wished him to be.

Somehow, she couldn't see that lecturing him would get her what she wanted.

So she got hold of herself and said,

"Sure.  Give me a couple of minutes."

Remembering Kevin, she turned back to the bar, saying,

"By the way, this is my partner..."

Her introduction trailed off as she realized Kevin had moved away from them
without saying a word.  Elbows wedged on the edge of the bar some ways down,
he was leaning into a pretty customer's space and saying something that was
making her laugh.  This one was a brunette.  Expanding his horizons?  she
mused, knowing his current penchant for blondes.

"He seems to be otherwise occupied."

"Give him a minute."  Her partner's concern for her had certainly dwindled
fast in the light of an attractive woman's arrival.

"As soon as he gets her vital statistics and a phone number, he'll be back."

Phoebe went for that container and her shoulder bag.  But when she returned
to the bar a few minutes later, Kevin was still preoccupied.  And Simon was
wolfing down a conch fritter.  She checked the platter.  He'd been doing a
creditable job of decimating the seafood while waiting for her.

"These are great," he said.

"When they're hot, they're fantastic."  Her appetite returning with a
vengeance, she popped an oyster into  her mouth and unceremoniously slid the
remaining food into the container.

"Ready when you are."

"Then let's get going."

Phoebe noticed Kevin didn't even look up as they walked by.  as if he were
studiously ignoring her.  So unlike him.  What was his problem?  First being
overprotective.  Now acting like.  what?

Again, the weird feeling.  Surely Kevin couldn't dislike Simon sight unseen.

Before going out the door, she glanced back over her shoulder and caught her
partner staring after them.  Unsmiling.  Seemingly focused on Simon.

Uneasy, Phoebe led the way out.

the osprey nest sort of looked like one.  While not perched in the branches
of a tree, the unpainted, weathered wood structure had been built on stilts
for protection against flooding, as had many buildings in this neck of the
Glades.

A passenger this time, Phoebe noted the motorcycles lined up between old
beaters and all sorts of utility vehicles.  Simon himself was driving a
well-aged pickup.  Undoubtedly, he'd fit right in with the bar's crowd.

He whipped into an open space and killed the engine, but made no move to get
out.

"I'm setting some ground rules before we go in."

"Like what?"

"Like I do all the talking.  Like, you stick to me like glue.  Like, you
follow my lead no matter what.  Agreed?"

While she yearned to make a crack--call him Your  Macho-ness, perhaps--his
tone stopped her.  This was a different Simon from the one she'd been
experiencing all day.  This was the closed, angry man who'd kicked her out of
his brother's house, a man who wouldn't stand for any argument from her .  or
anyone else, she was certain.

And probably that was for the best.

"Agreed."

The night was still and humid and crowded with swamp noises.  They'd arrived
at the edge of civilization.  Phoebe felt as if they were crossing the line
into the wild.

Upon entering the establishment teeming with rowdy men, she was certain of
it.  A raw energy electrified the smoke-filled place and immediately put her
on edge.

There were only three other women that she could see.  One was a harried
waitress slapping away roving hands as she tried to deliver a drink order.

The other two were partnered with raunchy, bearded guys wearing leather vests
over otherwise bare torsos.  When yet another of the bikers leered at her,
Phoebe was thankful she hadn't come alone.  She squeezed closer to Simon.

He gave her a quick, assessing look.

"Problem?"

She shook her head.

"What now?"

"Like I said... follow my lead."

He started through the horde, Phoebe close behind.  The few tables were
crowded, as was the neon-lit bar.  More rough-loo king men filled the
standing room and shouted at each other over the wail from the jukebox--a
woman complaining about her carousing man.

 A few gave her such a thorough once-over that she gladly became Simon's
shadow.  Although he was acting as if she wasn't there, she was pretty sure
he sensed her every twitch.  When a middle-aged Cuban caught her attention,
showing off his gold front teeth and silently indicating he'd buy her a
drink, Simon gave him a chilling frown.

"The lady's with me."

That's all it took to persuade the man to go back to his com padres.

Simon and Kevin had both been correct about this not being her kind of place.
The Osprey Nest.  How fitting, the osprey being a predator.  The bar was
filled with them.

Simon elbowed their way up to the bar and ordered two draft beers without
first consulting her.  Though Phoebe wasn't particularly fond of the stuff,
she didn't dare protest.  She merely lifted the mug and took an obligatory if
small sip.

"Keep the change," Simon said, giving the bartender a ten.

"Seen Bubba tonight?"

"Over there."  The man indicated the pool table in the back corner.

Whipping his free hand around Phoebe's waist and snuggling her closer to his
side than made her comfortable, Simon led her toward the knot of men hunkered
around the green felt-covered table.  She grew warm and blamed it on the
beer, even though she'd barely taken a sip.

Or maybe she was experiencing the adrenaline rush of doing something slightly
dangerous.

 Anything to negate the possibility that Simon had that potent an effect on
her.  Ahead, a few more women mixed with the crowd around the pool table.
Each clung to her companion.  One slid a bold hand down her boyfriend's
stomach and trailed it across an upper thigh.  He gave her a hot, suggestive
look.

Phoebe turned away.  her gaze meeting Simon's.

Did he notice her discomfort?

He dipped his head so his lips were at her ear.  "You could take a few
tips..."  he whispered.

Though his warm breath made Phoebe catch her breath, she muttered,

"Keep dreaming."

Deliberately ignoring him, she focused her attention at the far end of the
pool table.  There a stocky man wearing a wrinkled tropical-print shirt and a
baseball cap let out a whoop and victoriously waved his cue stick in the air.

The short man next to him slapped a bill into his free hand.

"Guess tonight's your night, Bubba."

The man they 'd come to find.  Bubba slid the money into an already bulging
shirt pocket.

"Who's next?"  A grin splitting his jowly face, he turned a beady gaze on the
man closest to him.

"Not me."

The next one threw up his hands.

"I'm dry."

But a skinny guy on his other side said,

"I got a ten to kill."

"Well, step right up, son," Bubba said, whom ping the cue stick on the floor.

"I'm a thirsty man."

As the competitors stepped up to the table, Phoebe  wondered what Simon was
waiting for.  She nudged him with her shoulder, which he ignored.

"Aren't you going to talk to him?"  she whispered.  His only answer was a
hard waist-squeeze.  prompting a squeak from her.

Good grief.  she wasn't even supposed to talk to him now?

Simon's gaze was fixed on the table action.  For the next several minutes, he
didn't take his eyes from Bubba.  Phoebe could almost hear the wheels turning
as he studied the man's every efficient move until he blew what looked to be
a pretty easy bank shot.

Grinning, his opponent started taking down balls but missed the fourth.

On his next turn, Bubba won the game.

Pocketing the money practically before the eight rolled into its pocket, he
asked,

"Rematch?"

"On an IOU?"

Bubba snorted.

"Yeah, right."  His gaze swept the room for a likely candidate.

"Cash only.  How about you, son?"

The chosen one said,

"I'm through for the night."

"And I'm no fool," his companion added.

"No guts, no glory!"  Bubba stated, again whacking the end of his cue stick
to the floor.

Then Simon let go of Phoebe's waist and stepped forward.

"I've got a few guts.  Some cash, too.  A C-note."

Which he plunked down on the edge of the table to the appreciative murmur of
the audience.

"Whoa, big spender," someone behind Phoebe muttered.

 "Who is this guy?"  another whispered.

"Don't know, but I seen him here before.  Usually keeps to himself."

A not unexpected impression, Phoebe thought, wondering if anyone really knew
Simon Calder on.

"You break," Bubba said.

"Don't mind if I do."

Simon racked the balls, then shot the cue ball into their midst, sending them
rolling in every direction.  Two stripes and one solid whipped into pockets.

He called,

"Stripes," then took a moment to study the layout before methodically
cleaning them off the table.

Bubba's smile faded as their numbers diminished to one.  Unfortunately,
Simon's thirteen ball stopped just short of a corner pocket.

"Lucky thirteen," Bubba said, his grin returning.  "Well, now, ain't this
interesting."

The grin lasted all the way to his last ball.  His six was lined up with the
thirteen for the same pocket.  If he kicked in Simon's ball--which was
inevitable, Phoebe thought--he would lose.  The only option left to him was
another bank shot.

Which he missed, exactly as he had in the last game.

Had Simon somehow planned it that way?

Phoebe's own skills at pool were amateurish at best.  But she knew a shark
could leave a ball anywhere on the table at will.  She watched Simon quickly
take out his remaining ball followed by the eight.

Several people cheered.

 One of them said,

"Hey, whaddya know, Bubba?  You ain't infallible tonight, after all."

Gmdgingly, the stocky man emptied his shirt pocket and turned virtually all
of his night's winnings over to Simon.  Left with a ten-dollar bill, he held
it up.

"Rematch?"

"You said you were thirsty.  How about I buy you a drink instead."

"Yeah, why not," Bubba grumbled.

Finally.  Phoebe took a deep, satisfied breath.

A handful of men were leaving a table, which Bubba skillfully commandeered
before anyone else could get near it.  Simon immediately sat, but Bubba
pulled out a chair for her.

"Here you go, little lady."

"The name's Phoebe.  He's Simon."

Signaling a waitress, Bubba whipped a second chair around so its back was
facing the table.  "Where'd you learn to play like that, son?"  he asked as
he straddled the seat.

"Here and there."  Simon placed the hundred and Bubba's tens and twenties
between them.

"How'd you like another chance at this?"

"Two hundred?  You gotta be kid din'.  I'm busted."

"I don't mean gambling.  I'm talking about a sure thing.  A trade."

Bubba's thick eyebrows pulled together and his eyes narrowed.

"What kinda trade?"

"Information."

"About...?"

Phoebe jumped in.

"Vance Laughlin."  And ignored Simon's immediate glower.

 Bubba hesitated a moment too long to be believable before saying,

"Don't recollect the name."

"Maybe your, memory just needs a jog."

Simon slid another hundred onto the pile as the harried waitress drew up to
their table.

"What can I get you folks?"

"Beers all around," Simon told her.

"None for me," Phoebe quickly said, then turned to Bubba.

"Vance Laughlin is a successful Fort Myers businessman.  You sent him some
photographs.

Don't bother to deny it.  You left your calling card on one of them.  "

"Could be, I suppose..."

Simon pulled out yet another hundred and waggled it in front of the man's
face.

Bubba licked his lips, hesitated a moment, then took the bill and started to
scoop up the money from the table until Simon slapped a hand onto the pile.

"Information first."

"Okay, so I do remember a Laughlin."

"He hired you to follow my sister Audra, right?"

"Phoebe!"

Ignoring Simon's growl, she demanded,

"Well, didn't he?"

"Not exactly.  I have this contact... a lawyer in Naples."

Simon's gaze was steely when he said,

"I assume you remember his name."

"Yeah, sure.  Only I ain't gonna ruin a good thing.  Know what I mean?  I do
jobs for him every once in a while."

"And you can keep on doing them.  We're not going to squeal on you.  It
wouldn't be to our advantage."  When Bubba squinted at them as if trying to
make up his mind, Simon added,

"Or you can forget about the four hundred.  A lawyer in Naples isn't enough
information to be worth this kind of money."

"Yeah, okay!"  Bubba immediately snapped.

"I believe you won't say nothing.

Name's Don Platt.  "

"If an intermediary hired you," Phoebe mused, "why did you contact Vance
yourself?"

"Figured he might like some extra copies of the wife," Bubba said as the
beers arrived.

And obviously he'd wanted some extra money, she thought, figuring the extra
photos had been a basis of blackmail.  What had he done?  Threatened to sell
them to the Borida Investigator?

She wondered how much more it would cost to get him to divulge details of his
meeting with her brother- in-law.  Before she could try to get any thing out
of him, however, he snatched the money, grabbed a fresh mug and stood.

"Thanks for the beer, son."

"Wait a minute," Phoebe protested.

"I was just getting started.  I have more questions."

"But I ain't got no more answers."  With a grin, Bubba shoved the money into
his pants pocket.

"Be seeing you, little lady."

"Aren't you going to stop him?"  Phoebe asked Simon as the man strolled back
through the crowd.

He paid the waitress, then said,

"Old Bubba's told us all he's going to."

"You don't know that."

 "He didn't suggest I come up with another offer, did he?"

"No."  She glanced back the way Bubba had gone, but he'd already disappeared
from sight.

"At least we i got something out of him.  A lawyer in Naples... how strange."

"Not when your sister was living there."

"Maybe not the Naples part, but why a lawyer instead of a private
investigation service?"

"Platt might have been someone Vance already knew.  Some one he'd worked with
on a deal."

Which would make a certain amount of sense.

"Now the question is, how do we get a lawyer to breach his confidentiality
agreement?"

"Without his knowing it."

"You mean... do something illegal like breaking into his office?"  \ "That's
one option."

One that Phoebe didn't care for.  She'd had enough of a scare with Vance
himself.

"What are the others?"  she asked.

"That'll take some thought.  In the meantime, let's get out of here."

He got no argument from her.  Phoebe was willing and ready to ditch the
place.  Simon shouldered his way through the crowd and again pulled her with
him.  She convinced herself that her relief at getting outside was due to the
smoky, claustrophobic feel of the bar rather than his letting go of her.

She kept some distance between them as they made their way back to the truck.

Upon arriving at the vehicle, however, she immediately noticed something out
of whack.  The truck was listing deeply toward the driver's side.

"You didn't park on soft ground, did you?"  she asked, unable to remember any
thing unusual.

' "Crushed shell and gravel."

They drew closer.

Even in the dim light of the parking lot, she could see that the problem lay
with both driver's-side tires.  Simon swiftly approached the truck and
stooped down near the rear wheel to check it.

"Two flats?"  she asked.

"Two slashed tires."  His tone was grim.

She trembled inside as she asked,

"But... how... who...?"  And why?

"What reason would anyone have to play such a nasty trick on you?"

Or had the trick been on both of them?

Bubba?

"Maybe whoever it was just didn't like my looks."

Simon straightened and slowly inspected his surroundings as if he expected to
zero in on the guilty party.

Phoebe followed suit.

The skin along her spine crawled.  She felt as if the night had a thousand
eyes, all aimed their way.  Anyone could be watching them from the dark.

"I'm going to need new tires," he said, breaking her concentration.

"And that's not going to happen before morning."

"But we're in the middle of nowhere!"  she croaked.

"What do you suggest we do?"

"Start walking."

 "Back to Marco?"

Was he crazy?

Opening the driver's door, he said,

"To my place," then reached inside.

"You live around here?"

He pulled out and tested a flashlight.  It worked, for which she was thankful.

"More or less."

"Which is it?"  she persisted.

"More?  Or less?"

"That would probably be more."

"How much more?"

Simon slammed the truck door and strolled toward her.

"If you want, you can go back inside and call a taxi.  I'm sure one will
come... eventually."

Inside.  Where the perpetrator of the nasty prank might be expecting them.

"You'll wait with me, right?"

"I'm walking."

He was.  Straight past her.  Phoebe was appalled.  And caught between a rock
and a hard place.  or rather, between Simon and the men inside the Osprey
Nest.  Including whoever held the grudge.

She only took a second to wonder which option would prove the more
dangerous-- "Wait up!"

Phoebe scrambled after him as she was certain Simon knew she would.  He
didn't even shorten his stride to accommodate her.  Her imagination
heightened, she felt as if someone were watching them now.

"Bubba?"  she said aloud.

"What about him?"

She peered over her shoulder between vehicles and into the dark beyond.

Her gaze swept in every direction but she didn't see so much as a hint of
movement.  And yet, the sensation of being watched lingered.

"He did disappear pretty quickly after leaving the table," she reminded Simon.

"Do you think he's the one who took a knife to your tires?"

"Why would he?"

"You tricked him into giving you information."

"I paid him.  And well, at that."

Simon stopped dead in his tracks and focused on a stand of trees to their
left.  Pulse immediately surging, she stopped, too, and whispered,

"What?"

"Shh."  He tilted his head slightly, as if listening to some sound she
couldn't hear.  After a moment, he muttered,

"nothing," and moved on.

"Don't scare me like that!"

Realizing that Simon was every bit as wary of their surroundings as she was
didn't reassure Phoebe in the least.  But it did keep her close to his side.

Their arms brushed, the contact shooting a further thrill through her, albeit
one of a very different sort.  On edge again, she attempted to conquer both
fear and attraction with logic.  She resumed her train of thought.

"You set Bubba up with the pool game to get to him," she said.

"He doesn't seem like the type who would tolerate being played with."

"Probably not... if there was nothing in it for him.  He came away with his
pocket three hundred heavier."

After leaving the bar's parking lot they were walking in the dark, and Phoebe
wondered why Simon didn't switch on the flashlight.

"Who else, then?"  she asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Vance was the only other name that came readily to mind.  Had her
brother-in-law somehow figured out the purpose of her visit?  And that Simon
had been with her?

"Could Vance have been following us all day?"  she wondered aloud.

' "Unlikely... but possible."

"Then you didn't notice anyone keeping up with us on the way here."

"Not a soul."

But he was loo king behind them now as if he expected someone to pop out at
them.  A thought that made breathing normally difficult.

The area around them was suddenly bathed in a pale light as a vehicle swept
down on them.  Simon pulled her off the road.  A moment later, a truck raced
by.

"We'd better stick to the shoulder."

"What there is of it," she muttered, unhappy with the uneven, sometimes
squishy footing.  Walking along the side of a narrow road like this could be
treacherous in full daylight.

"How in the heck can you see where you're going?"

"Experience."

Living in the swamp equipped him with night eyes?  Night hearing, too, she
guessed.  She, however, having lived her whole life in more civilized
surroundings, was not so blessed.

 "If you're not going to use your flashlight, I'll gladly take it,"

"Here."

Simon placed it in her hand.  The brush of his fingers against her palm
distracted her for a moment.  made her catch her breath.  ' "Are you going to
carry it around like a makeshift weapon or use it so you can see where you're
going?"

"Oh."

That he sounded amused brought warmth to Phoebe's cheeks.  At least he
couldn't see that in the dark.

She snapped on the flashlight and stared down at the ground, keeping one eye
open for ankle-twisting stones or mud holes, the other for any thing that
slithered.  She couldn't help wondering what she was doing hiking in the
middle of nowhere, practically in the middle of the night.  She had to be out
of her mind.

' "Why are you making me come to your place with you?"  she asked, her
displeasure with the situation growing with each step she took.

A car swept past them, moving in the opposite direction, while another set of
lights shimmered in the distance.

"I didn't make you do any thing."

"You left me with no choice."

"If you didn't have taxi fare, you could have said so."

Something about his tone got to her.

Vaguely aware of another vehicle behind them traveling in their direction,
she refused to be distracted from this debate.

"You were counting on my not wanting to go back inside alone.  Why?"

"Why should I have thought you would object?"  he countered smoothly.

"You were set on storming the Osprey Nest alone in -search of Bubba if I
didn't take you."

"That's before I knew what the place was like..."  Her sentence faded as his
intent crystallized.

"Wait a minute.  Is that what's going on here?  You forced me to walk to
who-knows-where in the dark because you needed to hear me say you were right?"

"That'd be a pleasant change," he muttered as the vehicle behind them roared
closer.

"Hey, how fast is that guy going?"

Phoebe glanced over her shoulder only to be blinded by high beams.  Shading
her eyes, she blinked and squinted against the bright light.  Just as it
swerved directly toward them!

Chapter Eight Using a full body tackle, Simon flung Phoebe out of the path
of the speeding vehicle with mere seconds to spare.  He rolled them both over
a slight embankment even as a dark four-wheel-drive truck careened by them
with a roar and a spew of mud and decaying plant matter.

They landed several yards from the road, limbs tangled, him on top.  The moon
had come out from behind the clouds and its light revealed Phoebe's face,
frightened and muck-splashed.  She lay still beneath him, trembling, and for
once, speechless.

"Are you all right?"  he asked.

He drew his gaze away from her, automatically seeking out the bastard who'd
almost run them down.

"I--I g-guess," she said.

"What the devil was that person th-thinking?"

Simon connected with the road.  Red lights glowed in the distance.

Brake lights.

"nothing good for us."

As much as he would have liked to remain exactly  as they were for a
while--the feel of her body under his again something he'd been imagining
since their first encounter--Simon knew better than to waste precious
seconds.  Untangling himself gingerly so that he wouldn't hurt her further,
he shot to his feet and helped Phoebe to hers.

"Can you stand on your own?"  Even as he asked, the vehicle made a U-turn,
tires squealing.

"Yeah.  I'm just a little shaky."

"Good."  Not trusting the driver's intentions, he grabbed her hand.

"Then let's get going."

He'd had a feeling those slashed tires had merely been a diversion.  A means
to a bad end.  for them.

That's why he'd been determined to keep Phoebe at his side.  Thank God, he'd
been able to trick her into coming with him.

"Wait a minute."  She stood fast.

"Where's the flashlight?"

"It must have gone out when you tossed it."  He started pulling the stubborn
woman away from the road whether she wanted to go or not.

"I

don't need it and neither do you.  unless you want to be a moving target.  "

"What?"

"The vehicle's heading back our way."

"The driver probably wants to make sure we weren't hurt."

"That's one possibility," he said tersely.

She stopped resisting.

"I don't think I want to hear the other one."

Sure enough, the four-wheel-drive slammed to a  stop near the spot where
they'd taken their nose dive.  A moment later, a brilliant beam flashed along
the ground.

If only the driver really was trying to make certain they'd come out of their
nosedive intact.  Not believing that for a moment, Simon headed straight for
a nearby cypress stand that would give them cover.  Behind them, the
searchlight began skimming an increasingly wide area.  advancing fast.
nearly catching up to them.

"Hurry!"

For once, Phoebe didn't challenge him.

They ran, quickly reaching the initial scattering of dwarf cypress trees
sprouting out of small pockets of water.  No matter that they moved as
swiftly as the uneven terrain would allow, the beam of light intercepted them.

Her turning to look back slowed them a bit.  Glancing behind them as well,
Simon realized the driver had spotted them and the vehicle's powerful engine
revved to life.

"Come on!"

Simon tugged at Phoebe to make her move faster.  Instead, she slipped on the
muck underfoot and went down to her knees with a splash.  She almost brought
him with her.  He resisted the fall, caught her around the waist and dragged
her straight toward the heart of the cypress dome.

"He's gaining on us," she croaked.

The roar of the engine closing the distance behind  them made him move
faster than he would normally with someone unfamiliar with the territory in
tow.

They were crashing through thigh-high saw grass immersed in inches--sometimes
a couple of feet--of water.  And as the distance between the cypress trunks
narrowed, they had to fight hanging Spanish moss that whipped them in the
face and chest.  Phoebe was having trouble keeping her footing over the
knotted roots.  She didn't complain, but Simon found himself half- carrying
her.

What choice did he have?

The all-terrain four-by-four would soon be upon them, unless they made it to
the denser center of the dome, where the water was deeper, allowing the
cypress trees to grow not only taller but closer together.

Too close for any vehicle to squeeze through.

With the instinct of a swamper guiding him, he flew along, knowing that once
their pursuer couldn't go any further except on foot, they would be safe.
This was his territory.  His home.  He could travel through it blindfolded.

Not so whoever sat behind the wheel.

It didn't take a genius to guess the driver's intentions.  The bastard would
run them down and leave their carcasses to rot in the swamp.

And Simon didn't fancy being alligator bait.

phoebe thought her lungs might explode before Simon slowed.  Of course, he
really had no choice.  While they'd raced through arduous territory for what
had seemed like hours, but had really been only  minutes, the terrain had
become nearly impossible to negotiate.

Ears attuned to the slightest sound, she could hardly hear the engine anymore.

' "I think we're losing him," she gasped as she sank to mid-thigh in the
murky water.

"That's the idea."

A hiss to their left made her jump but didn't even slow him.

"Alligators?"

"This is their natural habitat," he agreed.

Because he didn't sound too worried, she asked, "Neighbors of yours?"

"Could be, though I don't know them all by sight."

She shuddered in response.  He pulled her closer.  Her heart lurched .  as if
it hadn't had a good enough aerobic workout already.

"Do you know where we are?"

"A general idea."

"You mean we're lost?"

"I mean the swamp doesn't exactly have road signs."  He pointed overhead to a
blissfully clear sky.  "But we do have the stars to map our direction."

"So you can get us out of here, right?  Soon?"  she emphasized.

"Soon enough."

A moment later, they'd risen to higher ground.  Wet, mucky peat lay beneath
their feet, but at least they weren't wading anymore.

"When I get home, I'm going to throw away these sneakers," she vowed, feet
squishing in them.

 "Or you could use them as decoration with those swamp creatures that
inhabit your house," Simon suggested in a serious tone.

"They'll serve as a reminder."

"Of what?"  she asked.

"This is one night that I'm not likely to forget."

No doubt he meant as a reminder of her hardheadedness at insisting on going
to the Osprey Nest.

But all he said was,

"Stop a minute and catch your breath."

Glad to do as he ordered, Phoebe propped her back against a cypress tree.

He let go but didn't move away.

Even so, she regretted the break of contact.  For some odd reason, Simon's
hanging on to her had been more than physically necessary.  It had been
comforting, as well.

"You all right?"  he asked, close enough that his breath warmed her already
overheated face.

"Uh-huh."  she lied.

She might be intact physically, but she'd never been so frightened.  Then
again, she'd never had anyone try to run her over before.

He ran the back of his knuckles along her cheek, making her catch her breath.

"You're trembling."

"Not used to the exercise."

"Liar."

He was crowding her, still touching her with one hand, while his other
flattened the tree trunk beside  her face.  Though his body was inches from
hers, she imagined them clinging together.  naked.

Vaguely remembering the reason they'd been forced to run, she whispered,
"Don't you have any thing more productive to do than hassle a woman who's too
exhausted to defend herself properly?"

"Well, then..."

His head dipped slow enough that it gave her time to duck if that's what she
wanted to do.

She didn't.

Willingly, she raised her face to his.  Her heart hadn't yet settled, and
when their lips touched, it pumped double time.  Gladly, she parted her lips
and invited him in.

For a moment, she floated, her mind wandering to places drawn by passion,
painted by ecstasy.

For a moment, she knew exactly what it would be like to be taken by this man
and to take in return.

For a moment, she was unresisting.

Until the kiss ended.  Too brief, she thought, too tender.  That he didn't
move away made her self- conscious.

"Simon..."

She tried to make her hands do what she bade them, to push him away, but they
wouldn't cooperate.

' "Phoebe," he murmured in return, rubbing his face in her hair.

His lips trailed a path down the side of her neck, found the sweet spot at
the juncture of her shoulder.  His tasting her was the most erotic sensation.
And then he pulled away.

 Now she felt truly naked.

Vulnerable.  And remembered the reason they were on the run.

What if they were playing into the villain's hands by stopping at all?

"Do you think he's close behind us?"  she asked, not understanding how she
could be so torn between two different instincts.

Survival.  and sex.

That the person who'd tried running them over was still after them wasn't
even a question in her mind.

"I'll find out."

"Wait!"  Her cry as he moved away fell on deaf ears.

"Simon," she hissed, "don't leave me here alone."

"Stay put!"

Within seconds he became one with his swamp.

Leaving Phoebe to the dark and the dangerous creatures who roamed it.  She'd
barely taken a few easy breaths and now her chest was tightening up again.
Every sound seemed laced with menace.

A scrabbling like that of a raccoon made the skin along her spine crawl.

A splash pressed her hard into the tree trunk.

A slither would send her right up the damn tree!

Not normally a cowardly person, Phoebe felt completely out of her element.

She loved watching the creatures of southwestern Florida.  even at night, as
long as it was from the safety of her own screened- in lanai.  Her years of
exploring the Glades had been  confined to group activities and daylight
hours, when she'd been able to recognize the dangers around her.

All that had changed in a heartbeat, she realized.

Alligators.  Poisonous snakes.  Some one who'd tried to kill them.  All were
out there waiting.

Phoebe hugged herself, wishing she could urge her mind to a kinder, gentler,
safer path.  unencumbered by phoebe, Simon became one with the Glades, a
ghost.

Silent, invisible, invincible, he circled back.  Aware of every croak, every
footfall, every hiss.  His hearing was as sharp as that of any swamp creature.

He was one of them, always had been.  As his twin had been, until Boone had
chosen a different path.  Growing up in backwater country, he and Boone had
been able to lose themselves in their wilderness so completely that even
their father, himself a lifelong swamper, had been unable to track them if
they hadn't wanted to be found.  Their father had taught them well.

Perhaps too well.  A memory of the last time they'd all been out here
together crystallised.  Realizing what was happening, Simon tore his mind
away from the memories and aimed his thoughts back where they belonged.

 He'd been wrofig and Phoebe had been right all along.  He knew it now.  If
Boone had been guilty, no one would have followed them.

No one would have tried to kill them.

For surely that was the reality of the situation.  No one would try running
over two people with a four- by-four vehicle as a prank.  The slashed tires
hadn't been a prank, either, he decided, not even a nasty one.

Some one had wanted them on foot.

Vulnerable.

Dead.

Because they were asking too many questions?

Or because they were getting too close to the truth?

He could take care of himself.  But what about Phoebe?  Her instincts weren't
honed.  Her nature wasn't base.  She had no chance against someone with a
sick, twisted mind.

The very someone who'd murdered their siblings?

A series of splashes followed by a frustrated thunk--a kicked log?  --alerted
him that danger had crept closer than he'd thought.

Simon froze.  Waited.  Ears attuned.

More splashes.  a sigh of metal on metal.  an engine purring to life.

Suddenly the area ahead pulsed with light, sending night creatures fleeing in
every direction.

Simon himself squinted against the unnatural brightness, damning the fact
that he wasn't close enough to get a good look at the vehicle.  When it edged
back and veered off in the opposing direction,  he let go a breath he hadn't
realized he'd been holding.

His first thought was that Phoebe was safe.

For now.

Danger--real danger--put an edge to the moment that's difficult to describe.

We were being followed.  Even Boone couldn't deny it any longer.  My heart
hammered when his moment of realization gel led and he jammed the accelerator
to the floor.  We did some pretty fancy maneuvering around the handful of
moving vehicles that stood between us and total privacy.

I stared out the back window and watched the one trying to follow.  The
distance between us widened.  Boone finally lost our tail down some
godforsaken road in the middle of the Glades.  Brought me to a place that was
at once scary and seductive.

Wild, like our lovemaking.

Even in the midst of a swamp I felt as if prying eyes were on us.  My
imagination?  Perhaps.  The sensation added fuel to my desire.

So hot .  so humid.  Boone couldn't wait to get inside the house.  Right
there on the dock, he licked the trails of salty sweat from the hollow of my
throat.  from the valley between my breasts.  from the dip of my navel.   He
used his teeth to untie my shorts and tugged the waistband to my hips.  would
have exposed me and tasted me right there for all his swamp creatures to see.
But who else?

Something stopped me from letting him have his way this time.  Impossible to
sort out what exactly troubled me.

Instinct?

Awareness?

Imagination?

Unable to shake the distraction, I resisted until after I seduced him inside.
An ominous splash to her left jerked Phoebe out of the reverie.  Seeking a
safe place, her mind had wandered to equally treacherous territory--an entry
in Audra's diary that she'd read earlier that evening.

Was that really a long, large body she heard moving low through the water?

Another splash followed.  And another.

Gators on the hunt?

"Breathe easy."  The words made her start.

"Simon!"  How had he got there?  Phoebe wondered if he could really move in
utter silence or whether she hadn't heard his approach because she'd been too
focused on those scary sounds.

"Whoever it was gave up."

"For now."

"Good enough to get us out of here."

"How?"

 "We cut across there," he said, pointing in the direction of the menacing
splashes.

"And I can borrow an airboat that'll get us to my camp in another five
minutes."

"That way is gator territory."

"Uh-huh."

"I heard them."

' "And your point is?  You want to stay here, married to that tree until
daybreak?"

"I just don't want to trade one danger for another."

"You're with me now."

And that was another danger.  "Stick close," Simon told her.

"There are some tricky areas around here."

- "Tricky how?"

"False bottom."

Alarmed, she murmured,

"Quicksand?"

"Same principle," he said.

Making Phoebe envision taking a wrong step and being swallowed whole.

As they picked their way carefully through more wetlands, Simon kept away
from the water and clear land areas and led her across clumps of growth that
assured them of solid footing.  Staying close to his side, Phoebe felt
simultaneously safe and edgy at his very proximity.

Once more she was reminded of the diary entry.

The circumstances of what she'd read were so similar to what they had just
experienced, with some unknown person after them, and so similar to what they
were experiencing now--taking refuge in unfamiliar  territory--that she was
finding it more and more difficult to be at ease.

And Simon was like Boone, more than she'd first believed, making her wonder
what had closed him off and kept the brothers apart.

Yet, although she and Audra had remained close through thick and thin, she
wasn't a bit like her sister, Phoebe assured herself.  She'd always prided
herself on being more evolved.  Even if she was attracted to Simon, she could
control her own emotions, and keep whatever might happen between them
strictly physical.  Not get all caught up in living for another person, who
in the end would be sure to disappoint her.

A hissing followed by the snap of large jaws jolted her out of her thoughts
and into grabbing Simon's arm.

"You did hear that, right?"

"Yeah."  He was so matter-of-fact that she imagined the sound must be
commonplace to him.

"So you're not afraid of alligators?"

"No reason to be."

"I hope you're right," she muttered, edgy despite his confidence.

"They have been known to snack on human flesh before."

"When they've been provoked," he agreed.

"If they feel threatened they're bound to strike out.  But I have a healthy
respect for them.  And I doubt that human beings are pleasing to their
palate."

"What about that toddler last winter?"

"Tragic, but also highly unusual.  Without witnesses, we don't know the true
circumstances around the attack.  The mother didn't go loo king for the kid 
until after he'd vanished."  He added,

"Besides, a three-year-old is prey-size, while you'd make more than a
delectable mouthful... even when that mouth is a foot or so long."

Annoyed by his obvious amusement over the creeping paranoia she couldn't
control, Phoebe asked, "Isn't there any thing you are afraid of?"

For a moment she didn't think he was going to answer.

"More than I like to admit even to myself," he said, any touch of good humor
gone.

His seriousness sobered her, reminded her of their first meeting.

Though curious, Phoebe kept her questions to herself.  She didn't know how,
but she'd gotten to Simon on a deeper level than she chose to explore.

The opportunity was soon lost.

They arrived at Simon's intended destination--a building little bigger or
fancier than a shack and a small dock in the middle of nowhere, it seemed.

There were no lights except the moonlight.  No sign of people.

And no airboat, she noted with dismay.

Obviously, whoever Simon had intended to borrow the craft from had gone off
somewhere with the hoped-for transportation.  Her spirits sank lower.

"So what do we do now?"  she asked, facing her own exhaustion.

"Wait or walk?"

"Wait?"

"For the owner to return."

"You'd be waiting forever, then."

 A sense of deja vu jolted Phoebe into making a more thorough examination of
their surroundings.  The ramshackle place reminded her of.  what?  She
concentrated.  Stared harder.  Then it came to her.  The photograph!

"This was Boone's place?"

"And our mother's before that."

Boone holding Audra here on the landing.

Phoebe could visualize the photo.  And something more.  The diary passage.
Boone seducing her sister here, on this very spot.

Goose bumps rose along her flesh and Phoebe couldn't rub them away.  Weird.

Too weird?

And then it struck her.  Surely Simon had recognized the setting of the photo
he'd shown her.  Why hadn't he said any thing about it?

Intending to find out, she said,

"Simon..."  before realizing the man had wandered off somewhere and had
disappeared from her view.  Her heart tripped a beat.

"Simon!"  she called, louder this time.

"Stay there," he returned from some distance.

Still she couldn't see him.

She stared at the shadowed building that had belonged to Simon's brother and
to their mother before him.  How long before?  The place was quite old.

Could it have been home to the twins while growing up?

An engine suddenly roared to life, sending night creatures, and Phoebe's
pulse, scurrying.  She whirled toward the blast as an airboat slid from
behind a  thicket, but to her relief, it was Simon in the driver's seat.  He
edged the small craft around a curve, took his foot off the accelerator and
cut the power to the battery.  The huge caged propeller behind him slowed and
he jumped down from his perch to catch onto a rickety post which enabled him
to stop the boat.

She'd never piloted one of the shallow-hulled air- boats herself, but Phoebe
had done enough traveling in them around the Glades, both in water and over
the saw grass, enough to know that they were simple operation vehicles powered
by airplane engines.  Equipped with battery, accelerator, and rudder, they
had no braking mechanism.  Guides in the Everglades loved to thrill--and
soak--tourists by yanking on the rudder, thereby spinning them to a careening
and watery stop.

"Take my hand," Simon said, reaching for her.

Phoebe did so and scrambled into the hull and onto the bench seat that was
barely large enough to hold two people.

"Why didn't you tell me about the photo?"  she asked before noting he was
wearing what looked like thickly padded rubber earmuffs.

Simon's ear-coverings would combat the noise of the engine.  and deafen him
to her question.  It could wait.  He handed her a second set and climbed onto
the high driver's seat behind her.  She barely had the protection in place
before the engine thundered to life once more.

They zoomed across open water and then approached a densely overgrown area of
mangrove thickets.

And in the water itself, moonlight licked the long, dark backs of creatures
that on first glance appeared to be nothing more dangerous than floating
logs.  A snap of jaws and a foamy splash proved otherwise.  One of the gators
had caught himself a late-night snack.

Phoebe took a deep breath and looked toward an opening in the tangle of
mangrove ahead.  Simon headed the airboat straight for the narrow channel.

She'd been in these constricted mazes before, but never at night.  The
twisted growth closed around and above her like a tapering tunnel.  They
turned from one channel to another, which was even more confining.  Just when
she started feeling claustrophobic, Simon angled them out into a wider
waterway, then into open water.

A moment later, he torqued the boat to the right and cut the engine.  The
craft slid sideways with a moderate spray of water before slowing and sliding
into a pier.  They stopped neatly behind a pair of similar craft.

Phoebe was removing her headset when he jumped down and secured a line.

She stepped out of the boat, gaze fixed on the attractive if modest building
before them.

The traditional Florida home had been built on stilts.  Moon-silvered crushed
shell gleamed out at her from the flat surface below the building.

No doubt where Simon parked his truck.

 When he had a truck to park, she added ruefully.

The house itself was rectangular, constructed of well-weathered wood and a
tin roof, and surrounded by natural subtropical growth.  The second floor was
fronted by a screened-in porch along the entire width of the living quarters.
Cultivated vines and flowers dripped from boxes secured along a ledge.

"It's home... the best I could do."

Which made her wonder if he'd built the house himself.

"It's very nice," she said in all honesty.

"Go on in."  He indicated the steps on the other side of the building rather
than the stairs closer to them and the water.

"It's open.  Light switch to your left.  I'll be right up."

Glad for the opportunity of a few moments alone, Phoebe took him up on the
invitation.

She wanted to pull herself together, to decide what direction the rest of the
night would take.  Sleeping in the same house with Simon.  Or maybe in the
same bed.

Chapter Nine Phoebe charged up the back stairs.

A racing pulse for one reason or another seemed to have become natural to her
since she'd met Simon, she thought ruefully.

Danger and desire.  different and yet the same in effect.

Could it be that one prompted the other?  That, under normal circumstances,
she wouldn't have been attracted to Simon at all?

Opening the door, Phoebe switched on the light that illuminated the kitchen
area.  The interior was simple, with a main room taking up the center half,
doors leading to a narrower room on either side, so all three faced the porch
and the view beyond.

The practical ceramic tile flooring in a pale shade that reminded her of a
blush was scattered with colorful area rugs.  The furniture was sparse, of
heavy wood and equally colorful cushions.  Strategically placed plants
natural to the Glades, including several bromeliads and orchids, brought the
outdoors inside.

 She inhaled the natural fragrance and was stirred anew.

Simple and yet sensual.

Unexpected and yet not.

Simon Calder on.  -who would have thought?  certainly not she.

How long ago had they met?  Forty-eight hours?  Two days, and he filled her
thoughts.  affected her in ways she hadn't before experienced.

The double doors to the screened porch stood open, so she stepped out to take
a breath.  And to see what was taking Simon so long.  Her entrance prompted a
clanking and fluttering to her left.

Startled by the bizarre ruckus, she called out, "Simon?"

"" Simon says no!  Simon says no!  Awwwk!  "

A parrot!

Her eyes readjusting to the dark, she could see that one full third of the
porch had been further screened in to make a huge birdcage.  Several perches
of natural log had been set at different levels among more plants.
Squinting, she made out two similar shadows inside.  Macaws.

She drew closer.

"Hey, there "

"Simon says no!"   the bird repeated.

Grinning, Phoebe murmured,

"Don't I know it.  What's your name?"

"That's Mouthy Minerva," came a more familiar voice from directly behind.

Simon had caught up to her.

"The other one is Shy Serena."

Pulse speeding up, she glanced back at him.  "You've managed to give them a
splendid home."

 "A splendid cage," he countered flatly.

"Not that they belong in one."

"If you feel that way, then why did you buy them?"

"I didn't.  Got them from a rescue organization.  Their original owners were
neglecting them to the point of abuse.  They couldn't survive on their own,"
he said, opening a human-sized screen door and stepping inside the cage.

"And they're very dependent on human companionship."

As if to prove his words, both macaws ruffled their feathers and moved closer
for attention.

"Bedtime, girls."

"Simon says no!"  Minerva protested.

"Awwwk!"

"Simon says yes," he countered.

A fascinated Phoebe watched as he gave both birds treats from his jeans
pockets, then gently stroked their heads and necks.  Serena boldly perched on
his shoulder and picked at his hair as he moved around the room-sized cage.
The bizarre sight brought an unexpected grin to her lips.  He was lowering
the bamboo roll-up shades, giving the birds the extra incentive they needed
to sleep.  Minerva followed, hopping from one perch to another, squawking at
him and appearing every bit the protesting little kid.

"Yes, it's bedtime," Simon said more firmly, setting Serena on a perch and
running his fingers along her neck, then did the same with Minerva.

"Good night, girls."

"Awwk, Simon says good night!"

Feeling a new respect for the man, Phoebe said, "You're terrific with them."

 "Some one needs to be.  They're just a couple more helpless creatures who
didn't deserve to be treated badly."

The fervor in his tone got to Phoebe, made her wonder if he was only talking
about these birds.

a couple more helpless creatures.  How many had he encountered in his life?

Wanting to know more about him, she asked,

"So did you rescue animals as a kid?"

"Sometimes."

"Any of them make good pets?"

"Not for long."  Leaving the cage, he secured the door.

"My old man had no use for animals except for the money they could provide
him.  Never had any respect for their lives."  His tone bitter, he said,
"Then again, he had no respect for human beings, either, not even for his own
family."

"Parents can be difficult," Phoebe admitted.

"It wasn't until my dad knew he was dying that he tried to have a real
relationship with me."

Simon crossed in front of her to the screened wall, where he stared out at
the swamp.  He stood there, silent, arms crossed over his chest.  And Phoebe
figured he was closing himself off again.

So when he said,

"My old man died hating us.-Boone and me," she was shocked.

And what an awful thing for him to believe.

"I'm sure he didn't hate his own sons."

"How could he not?  We were responsible for his death."

Back still to her, Simon spoke tonelessly, but  Phoebe sensed the smoldering
emotions beneath the calm surface.

Certain Boone had said something about their father dying when they were
kids, she asked,

"How old were you?"

"Nearly twelve."

' "Kind of young to take on such a terrific responsibility."

"Boone and I were always old beyond our years, as far back as I can remember.
We had to be... for our mother's sake."  Simon faltered, making her think he
wasn't going to discuss it further, then said,

"He was the worst kind of abuser."

Phoebe closed her eyes and swallowed hard.  For as much grief as she'd felt
over her mother and Audra being mentally abused by men they'd loved, she'd
never had to face bruises or broken bones, and she was certain that's what he
meant.

Moving closer to Simon, she placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"He never was."

Even with nothing more than the moon illuminating the porch, she could see
enough of his face to know that his jaw was working.  Because he wanted to
say more?  Or was he clenching it against the memory?

"It was always Mama's fault."  His voice turned rough.  Edgy.

"His losing a job... getting drunk... losing his temper.  The old man always
put it on her... sometimes with both fists."

Her stomach clenched at the image that conjured  up.

"That had to be tough on a couple of helpless kids."

"We tried to stop him, but he only beat her worse, until we stopped him for
good."

The night suddenly closed in on Phoebe.  Dear God, she was starting to wonder
what he'd meant by his and Boone being responsible for their father's death.
Surely nothing literal, though.  Finding it hard to breathe normally, she
whispered, "What happened?"

Again, he didn't jump to clue her in.  Of course he was reluctant.  The
memories had to be painful.  But she was certain he wanted her to know or he
would never have let the conversation go this far.  He was opening up.

Why?

Even as she wondered, Simon started slowly.

"He didn't like the way Mama made the chicken that night.  Too spicy, he told
her, made his gut ache.

More likely it was his damn liver rotting from all the booze.  "

Expressionless, he met her gaze.

"He threw the bowl at her."

Without planning it, Phoebe reached out and slipped her fingers into his.

His hand closed around hers.

"Mama tried ducking, but it hit the side of her head.  I thought she was
going to pass out.  Blood was trickling down her cheek... he ordered her to
pick up every last piece of chicken off the floor.  When she wasn't moving
fast enough for his liking... she was so stunned, she couldn't... he slapped
her until she did."

 His grip tightened, but Phoebe didn't resist.  Her sympathy went out to him
in a return squeeze.

"And like always," Simon continued, "he said he was doing it because he loved
her so much he had to correct her, for her own good, of course.

Always for her own good.  "

"How awful," Phoebe murmured, only wishing there were some way she could take
away the hurt that still had so much power over him.

His admission got to her in a way for which she wasn't prepared.  It felt.
personal.  She remembered hearing Vance say something similar to Audra once.
Could he have been physically abusing her sister without her knowing?

"He was out of work again," Simon went on, as if she wasn't even there,
"picking up money where he could.  Later that night, he decided to go
frogging.  He sold frogs by the pound to a local restaurant.  And he made us
help, Boone and me.  We were so angry, we didn't want to go with him that
night.  We never should have, but we were afraid he'd take out his temper on
Mama again."

"So what happened?"  she asked, a knot in her stomach.

"An accident?"

When he shook his head, the knot tightened.

"We were out hunting in the grasslands.  Neither of us would speak to him.

We caught frogs, put them in the bucket.  but we wouldn't answer when he
asked us something.  The silent treatment got to the old man 'cause he was
feeling guilty, I guess.  He started criticizing.  Told Boone he wasn't
handling his  gigging pole right.  And then Boone just exploded.  He
couldn't keep it back anymore.  Not the anger, not the hatred that gets all
mixed up with the love you want to feel.  He asked the old man what he was
going to do to teach him different, asked if he was he going to hit him like
he had Mama.  "

Phoebe's heart faltered.

"Did he?"

"He tried.  He was furious.  He came at Boone and Boone used his gigging pole
to keep the old man at a distance.  He shoved him real hard.  The alcohol was
still affecting him.  The old man wasn't what you would call steady on his
feet even on a good day.  He lost his balance and took a couple of clumsy
steps back off the grassland and straight into the water..."

Not waiting for him to find the words, Phoebe asked,

"So he what?

Drowned?  "

Simon shook his head.

"False bottom.  He started to sink.  I was frozen.  I watched him scrabble
for something to hold on to.  Some branch or root some- thing he could use to
pull himself back out.  nothing held."

Like the area he'd warned her about earlier, Phoebe thought, wondering if he
knew every questionable inch of the Glades, or if that particular spot held
these terrible, personal memories.

"The old man just kept scrabbling and sinking," Simon was saying.

"Then he started swearing... and begging... and a little voice inside me told
me to stay put, that doing nothing would stop his hurting Mama.  I was
tempted, Phoebe, I admit it.  I wanted to stay put, only I couldn't.  I tried
to get to him..."

"But it was too late?"

 "Boone stopped me."  His words floored her.

"He was out of control, all wide-eyed and yelling that he loved the old man
so much he was gonna teach him a lesson... just like the ones Mama got.  I
tried to get by him, but he shoved me down and held me there..  insisted it
had to be this way to make sure she was safe.  I tried to tell him it wasn't
right, but he was past listening.  I had to fight my way back up, but then it
was too late."

Horrified, Phoebe could only imagine what it must be like to watch anyone
die, let alone a parent.  That had to have been devastating for Simon, even
if his father had been a drunkard and an abuser, a man whose sickness had
infected his son.  But only for that brief moment in the Glades, she assured
herself, hoping to God she hadn't been wrong about Boone.

"Odd that the authorities never brought up his untimely death," she mused.

"If they had..."

"If they had, what?  Would you have believed then- theory about Boone?"

Simon ran his knuckles down the side of her face.  Affected by the gesture
that was gentle and affectionate, pressing her cheek into his fingers, Phoebe
swayed toward him.

"Maybe," she murmured.

"Phoebe, with the heart too pure to suspect the worst in human nature, would
take as gospel some unspeakable accusation she couldn't prove for herself?
Now that I don't believe."

"You make me sound hopelessly naive."

"Aren't you?"  His fingertips worked their way be neath her hair, to stroke
her neck.

"Not that it's a bad thing."

Suddenly finding it difficult to keep track of the conversation, she murmured,

"It isn't?"

He shook his head.

"It's refreshing to know the world hasn't tainted all its innocents."

"Watch who you call innocent," she protested.

He touched her cheek, and for the merest whisper of time, she suspected he
would kiss her.  She wanted him to kiss her.  and more.

"As for the authorities," he continued softly, his face drawing nearer to
hers, "they didn't bring up the old man's death because they didn't know.

People disappear in the Glades from time to time, casualties of an
uncivilized land.  No one even questioned our story.  "

So he'd lied to cover for Boone, Phoebe realized.  She could imagine that
hadn't been easy for a twelve- year-old who'd had torn feelings about his
father.  And the lie must have preyed on his mind for years.  Maybe still did.

She covered the hand cupping her cheek, and it was as if she were electrified
by the contact.

"But your mother" -- "Went to her grave believing she'd lost her husband to
an accident.  And Boone and I never spoke of the true nature of that night
again.  Hell, I've never spoken about it to anyone.  Until now."

And why to her?  Phoebe wondered again.  At least now she understood Simon's
initial attitude in accepting the murder-suicide theory.

"No wonder you were so ready to believe your  own brother was a murderer.
You'd seen a violent side of Boone that no one else even suspected."

"And I couldn't tell you then."

"Why me?"  she finally asked aloud.

"Why now?"

"We shared something tonight... a brush with death.  Two people can't get
closer than that."

"Yes, they can," she said, wanting to do just that.

Perhaps he could find comfort in her arms.  Better yet, they could find
comfort in each other.  Some one had been after them.  Had tried to hurt
them.  Maybe worse.

That's all it was, she told herself as she slipped her arms up around his
neck as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to do.

Need.  Comfort.  And fulfillment of the natural urges that had been plaguing
her since she'd met Simon Calder on.

Natural urges intensified by reading passages from Audra's diary.  His face
was so close now she could hardly focus on it.  But she could see that his
lids drooped.  She concentrated on his sexy bedroom eyes rather than on what
had almost happened to them earlier.

What she read there sent her pulse skittering.

She lifted her face in invitation.

"Why, Phoebe," Simon murmured,

"I believe you are trying to seduce me."

"What if I am?"  she asked breathlessly, her world suddenly narrowing to the
two of them.

"Then I'm flattered.  And curious."

"About what?"

"Why?"

"I need a reason?"  A blush started from her mid die, warmed her already
sensitive breasts and crept up to her face.  No man had ever expected her to
explain a need as natural as breathing before.

"How about... we can take comfort in each other's arms," she said lightly.

"That' sit?"

He didn't try to hide his amusement.  Did he really have to tease her now?

Senses heightened, she was in the mood for physical rather than verbal
satisfaction.

"We are attracted to each other, right?"  Surely she couldn't be mistaken
about something so basic.

"I am attracted to you, yes," he admitted.

"Well, then..."

Before he could grill her further, Phoebe decided to take the situation into
her own hands.

Rather her Ups.  Rising on tiptoe, she found his mouth.  At first he seemed
as if he were going to resist, but then his lips softened.  Opened.  Invited
her in.

The raw sound escaping his throat thrilled her.  The sound of a man in lust.
with her.

Set aflame, Phoebe was gratified by his arms snaking around her waist,
drawing her closer.  Tighter.

She was trembling.  Willing.

Wanting Simon Calder on more than any man she'd ever known.

Wanting to burn away unpleasant thoughts and memories; the shock of someone
trying to kill them.

She pressed herself into him and rocked her hips until her lower body fit his
perfectly.  He cupped her derriere and groaned again.  Flushed with desire,
she raised a knee and slid her leg around his.

 His readiness pressed against her belly.  he could take her right there.

And she was certain he would?

She hoped he would.  His hand slid down and around her bottom along the
underside of her leg and toward her center.  His initial foray elicited from
her an intense response and slicked her inner flesh with a wet warmth she was
anxious for him to explore further.

Through the soft cotton of her trousers, his long fingers traced the elastic
of her lace panties.  Then he swept straight to the heart of her femininity,
the thin layers of material presenting no barrier to sensation.  Lifting her
leg higher, she opened herself and pushed into the seduction of his touch.

He cupped her, stroked her, invaded her as far as the garment would allow.

Not enough.  not nearly enough.  When he left a trail of sensual bites down
the length of her neck, she gasped and dug her nails into his shoulders,
silently urging him to take her higher.

He found a rhythm, coaxed another flow from her until the material between
her thighs dampened with her essence.  She was sure he could feel it, wanted
him to.  Every inch of her flesh had been awakened and every nerve was
singing.  Her breasts swelled and ached.  And she felt her own pulse race in
the most intimate of places.

Desperate for more pleasure, wanting the same for him, she slid a hand
between them and found him equally aroused.  Not satisfied, she forced her
way beneath his jeans and along his naked flesh.

 Better.

His flesh was hot.  Vibrant.  Responsive.  She trailed the tips of her nails
along his smooth length and used her forefinger to circle his tip.  His sharp
intake of breath intensified her need.  Suddenly his hands loosened their
grip.  Finding her shoulders and setting her from him.  So he wouldn't take
her right there, after all, Phoebe realized, his lack of spontaneity
disappointing but certainly not killing the mood.  Perhaps a bed would better
the first time, anyway.

Eager to get there, to finish what she'd started, she didn't understand why
he wasn't moving.

Then, on a shaky breath, he asked,

"What else, Phoebe?  Why do you want to be with me?"

Startled, she stared through the dark.  He was turned away from the moon so
his expression was hidden from her.

Why in the world was he questioning her again?  Something about his tone
sounded wrong.  So serious.  Needy in a way that scared the stuffing out of
her.

Her desire dimmed, but she didn't give up yet.  "What is it you want me to
say, Simon?"  She tried to keep her words light, flirtatious, but she feared
escalating tension of another sort was pouring out of her with every syllable.

"Surely you're not the one man in the world who needs assurances before
having sex."

"Sex.  Right."  Now it was he who sounded disappointed.

"Soft words from your lips would be  nice," he agreed.

"Some sentiment beyond the physical."

He did want assurances!

Internal alarms going off, Phoebe backed away from the man and wrapped her
arms around her middle.  The last of her ardor cooled as quickly as it had
been aroused.

"Why do we have to talk at all?"  she asked, wishing she could be anywhere
else in the world.

"It's what people do when they get close."

Close?

Positive he didn't mean it in the physical sense, she wondered how close he
wanted to get.

She snapped,

"Men say pretty words far too easily, and just as easily do ugly things to
the very women they're supposed to--care about."

She couldn't even say the word love.  Not when she didn't believe in it.

"They do, don't they?"  He sounded as distant as she was beginning to feel.

Making Phoebe start.

And recognize the tension radiating from him.

Anger?  Hurt?

But why?

And then a thought struck her.

Surely Simon didn't believe she was referring to his parents.  He had, after
all, just told her that his father had hit his mother while vowing his love.
In truth, she'd been referring to the parade of men her mother had ushered
through her life.

"Simon, I think you've got the wrong idea" -- "You don't have a clue as to
what goes on inside  my head," he growled, sweeping by her and into the
house.

"Simon!"  She followed.

"Let me explain."

But it was too late.

He stopped and faced her, any ardor he'd been feeling seemingly gone if his
expression was any indication.  His gaze swept over her as impersonally as
if she were nothing more than an acquaintance.

"Talk about bringing the outdoors inside."

Phoebe glanced down at the muck that clung to her from their run through the
swamp.  What a mess!  Simon looked equally grubby and she was sure he knew
it.  His defense mechanisms were up and he was striking out, attempting to
embarrass her.

For once, she couldn't think of a thing to say, clever or otherwise.

When she didn't respond, he said,

"You can have the shower all to yourself.  You'll find fresh towels and a
robe in the bathroom closet."

At a loss to know how to fix this, she finally found her voice.

"I guess I should just leave my clothes on and do my laundry at the same
time, huh?"

But her attempt at humor fell flat.  Simon was already halfway toward the
door.

And Phoebe watched him storm out, the weirdest longing welling up in her.

She wanted to stop him.  To say whatever it would take to get him to come
back.

To make things right between them.

The lump in her throat nearly choked her.

She wanted.  What?

 nothing, she assured herself firmly.  All along she'd known Simon Calder
on was the wrong man to lust after.  He wasn't casual and easy to talk to.
He wasn't like any other man she'd ever been with.  From the first hint of
attraction, she'd known she couldn't control the situation, so why had she
started any thing in the first place?

And why the disappointment when she'd merely proved herself correct?

Heading for the shower, Phoebe had never felt so miserable.

All hint of physical desire had vanished, and yet she was left wanting
something she couldn't name.

A cold shower should fix what ailed him, but Simon found the stinging water
invigorating to his perfectly healthy libido.  He might have stopped himself
from taking Phoebe, but that didn't stop him from wanting her.

Standing naked under the simple outdoor shower he'd installed beneath the
bathroom, he soaped himself vigorously, as if he could wash away the effect
she was still having on him.  But that only made him think of her doing the
same directly overhead.

Phoebe touching herself, running her fingers through the soap.  Once the
image came to him, it was firmly planted in his mind.

He ought to have his head examined.

Passing up what Phoebe had offered.  what had gotten into him?

Over the past couple of days, he'd imagined taking  her more times than he
cared to admit.  The adrenaline rush that had followed their escape had
prompted the perfect opportunity.  And he'd blown it by pressing her, trying
to make her say something she obviously wasn't feeling.

He'd never done that before.

Not with any other woman.

He'd reacted too quickly.  Too strongly.

He never should have delved into the past in the first place.

What had been his point?

Why had he revealed the worst moments of his life to this particular woman?
Why Phoebe?

What made her so special?

And why couldn't he free himself of the image of her all soapy and wet, her
fingers threading through the foam laving her flesh.  touching herself in the
most intimate of places even as he longed to do?

Chapter Ten "Why didn't you say something about owning a telephone last
night?"

Phoebe had held back the complaint through an awkward breakfast--not that
Simon's appetite had suffered in the least.  Great.  Any embarrassment over
last night's events was strictly on her side, and she had enough for both of
them.

They were heading down the rear stairs on their way to the airboat, which
they would take back to his childhood home.  There they would trade it for an
ancient pickup, which, he assured her, would run with a little coaxing.

Then he would return her to the Blue Crab and her car.

Having called his local service station first thing that morning about
getting a tow and new tires, Simon had been assured his own vehicle would be
ready in several hours.  Phoebe hadn't wanted to hang around that long.

Being alone with him was too unnerving.

"I could have called that taxi," she grumbled as they hit ground level.  '
"Or better yet, you could have  driven me back to Marco last night in the
pickup you didn't bother to mention along with the phone."

Which would have saved her from making a fool of herself.  At least he had
the decency to avoid mentioning it.  Phoebe counted her blessings.

"You would have gone home to an empty house," he said.

"I usually do."

A fact that had never bothered her before.  She loved her house.  The first
place she'd ever lived in that she could call home and mean it.  Suddenly it
loomed empty and lonely in her mind.

Maybe she ought to get a pet.  Another Mouthy Minerva to keep her company.

"You don't usually have someone try to run you over with a four-by-four,"

Simon was saying.

"But Bubba doesn't know where I live."

"You don't know that for sure."

She'd already called the authorities to report the incident.  She'd spoken to
Detective Sand st rom, the man handling Boone and Audra's case.  However, he
wasn't ready to believe there was a connection between their deaths and the
attempt on her and Simon.

Yet.

At least she'd planted a seed in his mind, Phoebe thought.

"Detective Sand st rom promised they would find Bubba and pick him up as soon
as possible for questioning.  They could have done that last night."

"What if Bubba isn't the one who tried to kill us?"

"We've already been through this."

Though she'd considered the possibility that Vance  had been the one behind
the wheel, she didn't think it likely.  He would have had to follow them from
the Blue Crab, and surely Simon would have spotted a tail.  More likely Bubba
had called Vance to warn him they were buying information.  and her
brother-in- law had paid the man to do his dirty work.

Getting herself into the airboat was a welcome distraction from her dark
thoughts.  And she was glad enough to put on the extra headset so she
wouldn't have to carry on any further conversation with Simon, who seemed to
be in surprisingly good spirits.

Feeling his gaze on her, she ignored him and pretended interest in the local
flora.  Aware of his every movement, she knew the exact moment he took the
raised seat behind her.  She settled in even as the engine roared to life.  A
moment later, they were on the move.

All through the night, she'd tossed and turned, too aware of Simon sacked out
on the couch to get herself a good night's sleep.  He, on the other hand, had
seemed amazingly well rested over breakfast.  No wonder, considering the
amount of snoring she'd been subjected to.

Hadn't what almost happened between them affected him at all?

As they raced along, the amazingly clear morning and still comfortable air
relaxed her a bit.  She spotted a couple of raccoons fishing at the
shoreline, a turtle sunning itself on a log, and an osprey floating on a
draft overhead.  Not an alligator in sight.  With the sun's rise, the swamp
had lost its threat.  She could even wonder at her own imagination.

 What had gotten into her the night before?

A few minutes later, they docked.  Simon jumped down from his seat and tied
up the boat.  Reluctantly, knowing she'd have no choice but to talk to him,
Phoebe removed the padded headsets that had served as protection from him as
well as from the engine's noise.

"It might take a little coaxing to get the pickup running," he said.

"Why don't you go on inside until I do."

Of course he didn't really want to talk to her, either.  His good humor had
been a front.

"Sure, I'll be happy to get out of your hair," she muttered.

"Phoebe" -- She turned her back to him and kept going.

Sunlight dappling across Simon's childhood home gave it a certain charm that
had been lacking in the middle of the night.  And the inside, while small,
was inviting.

Enough bright light shone through the windows to make the pale yellow walls
glow.  The furniture might be old, but it appeared well-tended.  While she
wasn't into famishing her place with antiques, she recognized the potential
value of some pieces.  No doubt they were original to the house, but they
looked as if they'd been restored.

Rag rugs hid part of what looked to be a new wood floor, one Phoebe guessed
to be of a modern material that would hold up against the elements instead.
Boone's doing, no doubt.

 Because he'd wanted the place as a private love nest?

Curious, she entered the bedroom whose door stood open.

The full-sized bed had a metal headboard and was covered by a hand-sewn quilt.

Wondering if Simon's mother had made it, she perched on the edge of the
mattress and admired the handmade piece up close.  She'd barely gotten a look
when a blast of a horn alerted her to Simon's success with the old pickup.

Rising, she hesitated when something out of place caught her eye--a small
object that had fallen between bed and nightstand.  It looked to be a figure
of some sort.

The horn blew again, conveying Simon's impatience.

Deciding he could wait a moment longer, she retrieved the fallen object, the
figure of a woman.  Attached to the small doll were a lock of blond hair and
a piece of cloth whose leafy pattern looked familiar.

She'd bought her sister a scarf with this very same pattern several months
before, after Audra had admired it in an exclusive Old Naples shop.  but
Audra had only worn it once before losing it.

Or had she lost it, after all?

Phoebe caught her breath when she realized the pins attaching the cloth to
the figure were stuck in strategic places--sexual regions, in addition to the
heart and the middle of the forehead.

Her sister had been shot in the head.  and a crime of passion involved the
others.

 Her own heart began to pound and for once it had nothing to do with danger
to herself or Simon.

The county authorities lacked proof that anyone other than Boone might have
wanted her sister dead.  What if she held that proof in her hand?

What if someone had created a voodoo doll in her sister's image, as a
warning, or to foreshadow the evil deed!

what in the world was taking Phoebe so long?  Simon wondered as the old
pickup shook and rattled.

He blew the horn a third time, again to no response.  Afraid that if he cut
the engine he might not be able to get the damn thing running again, and that
if.  he didn't cut the engine they might run out of gas, he was getting
angry.  Figuring he'd better see what was hanging her up for himself, he
decided to chance the gas.

A moment later, he burst through the front door, yelling,

"Hey, Phoebe, I thought you were in a hurry to get home!"

He didn't see her at first.  Anxious, he whipped around, momentarily thinking
something had happened to her.  And then he spotted the open bedroom door.

"Phoebe, are you in there?"

She was sitting on the bed, staring at something in her hand.  Her face was
pale, her eyes huge.  She appeared at once frightened and elated.  For a
moment, she stared straight at him without seeming to realize he was there.

 Then she blinked, jumped up from the bed and waved something at him.

"Look at this."

"What is it?"

"See for yourself."

Expectancy radiated from her as Phoebe hurried to show him the small object.

Carefully examining the figure, which a more superstitious person than he
would believe had the power to kill someone, Simon frowned.

"Where did you find this?"

She indicated the area between bed and nightstand.  "It must have fallen."

Simon splayed the lock of hair with a fingertip.  "Blond.  Wasn't Audra" --
Phoebe jumped in with,

"That's her hair, all right."

"Can you be certain?"

"Not without scientific testing, I guess.  But trust me, it's as close a
color and texture match as you could get.  I definitely can identify the
material, because it's a piece of a scarf I gave her."

"Some one could have stolen the scarf or even picked it up if she left it
behind somewhere," Simon mused, "but hair's another matter."

"Women do change hairstyles," Phoebe insisted.  "And Audra had hers cut
several weeks ago.  I was surprised she'd gone so much shorter.  She said the
longer hair was more trouble than it was worth, especially during the summer,
but Vance had always insisted she keep it that way.  I guess she saw the
change as another shot at cutting herself loose from him.  And since he was
having her followed..."

 "Whoa."  He could tell where she was going with this and he couldn't buy it.

"Can you really see Bubba going inside some posh hair salon to spy on Audra,
without making a spectacle of himself?--and somehow managing to abscond with
a lock of her hair?"

Phoebe's brow pulled.

"Kind of hard to imagine when you put it that way."

"And has Vance ever given you any clue that he's into the black arts?"

"Well.  no, but" -- "So this isn't proof of any thing, just gives us
something more to think about."

"And something to check on," she added.

"Audra and I went to the same hairstylist.  I can ask David if any thing
weird happened that day."

"If he can remember that far back."

"And I wonder what Detective Sand st rom would make of something so hateful."

"What would be the point in telling him now?"

"What do you mean?"

"We have no idea where the doll came from, so you can't suggest a new
suspect.  Besides, it's a little unusual for the purveyor of evil to send the
supposed means of death to the victim," Simon went on logically, "and you
found the doll in here--in a house that my brother owned.  Who would have
better access to a scarf your sister wore than her lover?  Or better access
to her hair?  He could have snipped off a lock while she slept.

You'd only be pointing a finger back at him.  "

 Phoebe couldn't deny it.  And when she asked,

"Do you believe that?"  her voice was hollow.  Resigned.

"No, not after last night.  But if you'd put it to me two days ago?"  He
shrugged.  No doubt he would have thought the worst, which he'd been primed
to do.  And that would have given him yet another reason to suspect his own
dark side.  Oddly enough, Simon felt his self-doubts receding.

Phoebe appeared crestfallen and Simon regretted that he was responsible for
her disappointment.  Again.  She'd had just such a look the night before,
when he'd stopped things from going too far between them.

In the cold light of day, he knew he'd done the right thing.  Not that the
fact made it easier on either of them.  After last night, he realized he
wanted more than sex from her--a confusing turn of events, considering they
hardly knew each other.  And if he'd given her what she'd been asking for,
they both would have had cause to regret sleeping together, if for different
reasons.

Phoebe brightened suddenly.

"What about the fingerprints on the doll?"

"The person who made this could have been wearing gloves.  But chances are if
Boone had his hands on the thing, he wouldn't have taken any kind of
precautions.  Not any more than we just did."

"So what do we do?"  Phoebe asked with a sigh.

She appeared so forlorn that Simon couldn't help himself.  Meaning to put his
arms around her for her comfort, he took a step toward her but stopped in his
tracks when she flashed him a deadly glare.

 Obviously, she wasn't having any comfort.  Not from him.  Not today.

He cleared his throat and said,

"We hang on to it, for now.  And we get you back to Marco.  If we don't
hurry, we won't make it as far as the nearest gas station."

"And get stuck out here in the middle of the swamp any longer than necessary?
No, thanks."  She was already swinging past him and on her way out the front
door when he heard her say,

"Not in my lifetime."

Simon narrowed his gaze and followed, muttering too low for her to hear.

"We'll see about that, Phoebe Grant.  We'll just see about that."

phoebe would have gone straight to Dolphin's Gate to check on Jimmy Bob
Dortch, as she'd threatened, especially since he'd promised to be there at
eight and it was long past that, but home was on the way.

Home.  and Audra 's diary.

Her sister would never have left out something so sinister as receiving a
voodoo doll, and Phoebe meant to discover what she'd written about the curse.
Perhaps Audra had even figured out who was responsible.

Besides, her stopping for a few minutes wouldn't make any difference one way
or the other to the work that was supposed to be going on in her mother's
townhouse.  If Jimmy Bob was there, he was there.  And if he wasn't.   She
would check on him as soon as she satisfied her curiosity.

Pulling into the garage, Phoebe rushed into the house and filched the journal
from her nightstand, then threw herself across the bed.

The voodoo doll obviously had to have been made after Audra's haircut,
somewhere around the Fourth of July.

Phoebe skipped forward a few weeks in her reading and started skimming until
she found an entry that made her sit up and take notice.

The most frightening thing happened to me last night.  What could be more
frightening than finding tangible and potentially deadly proof of someone's
hatred for you?

With a sense of trepidation, Phoebe settled in to read.

The most frightening thing happened to me last night.  It started ordinary
enough.  A romantic dinner.  A walk along the beach.

Foreplay under the moonlight.

But for once, he wasn't so eager to take me on the spot.  I did my best to
convince him to try, but he was acting a little weird, taunting me with
promises of a delicious surprise once he got me into bed.

The silk ties weren't just a surprise.  they were a bit of a shock.  The idea
of his tying me up was titillating.  And scary.

 What to do?

How much did I trust him?

How much control was I willing to give someone I really hadn't known that
long?

Up to you, he whispered, even as he began his seduction.  He used all the
resources in his very potent arsenal, keeping at me--keeping satisfaction
from me--until I had no will to resist left.  Phoebe came up for air.
Dropping the diary, she took a shaky breath and fought the yearning that had
built in her instantly.  Fought the seductive image of Simon that all too
readily came to mind.  Fought the memories of what had almost happened
between them.

Memories that threatened her sense of contentment and security.

But she had to go on reading, no matter the cost to herself.  Had to learn
what had frightened her sister so badly.

Praying it hadn't been Boone himself, Phoebe steeled herself and once again
picked up the record of her sister's last weeks on earth.

He dragged the silk over my naked body.  The experience was so luxurious and
erotic that my flesh pebbled.  and my insides quaked.

I'm not certain when, exactly, the misgiving began, but sometime during this
foreplay-- maybe after both of my wrists were tied to the headboard and he
was winding the third scarf around my ankle--I sensed we were being 
watched.  The impression was no different from the one I'd had out on the
street when we'd avoided the other vehicle.

Foolish.  stupid.

How could that be in my own bedroom?  I tried to convince myself .  but I
couldn't.

Finally, I put the fear into words.  He just laughed, teased me about being
paranoid, and-- securing the fourth scarf--suggested my reaction came from
doing something foreign and forbidden.

Naked.  spreadeagled vulnerable.  / tried to believe him.

But I couldn't relax.  He was determined to make me.  Even as he made love to
me, whispering hot, sexy promises of how he would turn me inside out all
night, uneasy thoughts raced through my mind.

What if someone really was watching?

To my shame, the fear heightened the experience.

I could almost see another set of eyes glued to our every movement, another
set of ears hearing our every moan.  The imagining of a third person in that
room, a party to our lovemaking, did nothing to cool my ardor.

I burned brighter.  wanted more intensely.  had to have more.  And in the
midst of his bringing me to the pinnacle again and again, another terrible,
frightening thought occurred to me.  What if I were making it all up because
I needed more than  Boone alone could give to satisfy me?  The troth or an
imagined necessity.  Which would be worse?

An uneasy Phoebe lowered her sister's journal, for once more disturbed by the
contents than by the erotic imaginings it normally produced.  As usual, all
her senses were heightened, especially that same sixth sense--dread--which
had struck Audra so sharply.

Shivering, she gazed into the four corners of her own bedroom, as if
expecting someone to be spying on her.

Had Audra really recognized a frightening truth that had precipitated her
death--or had it merely been sex-play for her like the other times she'd
played with Boone?

Erotic games, sex toys, intimate paraphernalia, Audra had been into them
all.

Could it be that lust had ruled her sister for so long that she'd needed the
extra incentive to be satisfied?

Disturbed by the possibility, and by the parallels she could start drawing to
herself, Phoebe stiffly nipped through the remaining pages of the diary,
reading nothing, merely picking out words here and there.

No voodoo doll.

Thankful to be done with it, she shoved the leather- bound book back into the
drawer next to the one she'd found in the shoe box at Vance's place.  A
glance at the nightstand clock reminded her of her obligations.

If she was going to check on Jimmy Bob Dortch  before reporting for work,
she needed to get a move on.

A quick change of clothing and she was on her way.

If she'd been hoping the ride to Dolphin's Gate would settle her down, she
was sorely disappointed.  Audra's self-doubts had brought up some of her own.

Not that she needed unusual circumstances or games--rather it was that she
didn't seem to want more.

That fact had bothered Simon so much that he'd rejected her.  A somewhat
sobering first.  Her experience with men, while limited in comparison to that
of her mother or Audra, was enough to know that "more" wasn't normally what
men were loo king for.  Those she'd been with had been happy enough to take
what she'd offered and hadn't complained when she'd chosen to end the
short-term affairs.

Why hadn't that been enough for Simon Calder on?

What made him different?

And why did she care?

Phoebe tried to shake her weird reaction prompted by the journal entry, but
as she sailed through the development's entrance, she realized that wasn't as
easy as she'd like.  She felt that she was coming to some kind of crisis in
her life, and that scared her.  All wound up, she had as little success as
Audra in trying to relax.

Seeing Jimmy Bob's truck in her mother's driveway, Phoebe practically flew
from her convertible into her mother's townhouse.

"Jimmy Bob, it's Miss Phoebe," she called.

 Expecting to see him at work, she instead faced an empty kitchen.  His
toolbox lay open on the floor.  Materials spread along the counter.

But no Jimmy Bob.

How peculiar.

Pulse fluttering strangely, she stopped and stood listening to the
refrigerator hum.

Growing apprehension filled her as she tried again.  "Jimmy Bob, where are
you?"

Had the handyman wandered off somewhere in search of a forgotten tool?

A thump directly overhead dashed that idea.  She considered quickly--the
sound had come from Audra's bedroom.

He had no business being anywhere but the kitchen, so what in the world was
he up to?

Phoebe crept up the stairs, all the while attuned to the strange noises
issuing from the bedroom.  She'd swear the handyman was moving furniture.

Just outside the door, she paused and took a deep breath.  Then she stepped
inside.

Jimmy Bob was standing on an upholstered chair he'd pulled directly to a wall
of built-in storage units.  The louvered doors to a top cupboard stood open,
and he was rooting around inside.

Eyes wide, she demanded,

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The handyman whipped around, and in trying to maintain his balance, released
the object he'd just picked up.  It flew directly at her and landed at her
feet.

Phoebe stooped to retrieve it.

 A video camera.

And a videotape recorder was sitting on the floor next to the chair, while
two wires hung from the open section of the wall unit.

She tried to grasp what all this meant and could only come to one conclusion.

"Jimmy Bob, how long were you recording what was going on in my sister's
bedroom?"

Chapter Eleven Averting his gaze from hers.  Jimmy Bob whimpered and shifted
from one foot to the other.  Tufts of light brown hair stuck out from under
his billed cap and around his florid face.  He looked guilty as sin
standing-on that chair, and it took all Phoebe's willpower not to scream at
him to get down and explain himself immediately.

As calmly as she could manage, she said,

"I believe I asked you a question.

Jimmy Bob.  "

"Gotta go."

He practically fell in his haste to scramble down from the chair.

"Not so fast."  She planted herself between him and the door.

"You have some explaining to do.  What are you doing in this room with this
equipment?"

And what was the equipment doing there in the first place?  A camera lens
aimed through the louvers of the cupboard door would give a direct view of
the bed.  She realized her sister probably never even guessed it
existed--Audra hadn't taken enough with  her to fill all the storage space,
so she'd probably never even opened the high doors.  Anyone could have been
tracking her sister's sexual activities.  Some one who'd been obsessed.  She
shuddered at the thought.

"Who is responsible for this?"  she demanded.  "How did you know about the
equipment?"

The handyman jammed his billed cap lower over his forehead.

"I'll finish the kitchen, now.  Miss Phoebe."

"No!  You are finished here, for good," she said firmly.  No way was she
going to give him free rein in the place.  No matter the circumstances, he'd
taken enough of that already.

"Do you understand?  You're fired."

"Yes, ma'am."

Despite the evidence, she had a hard time believing that he was responsible
for installing video equipment in her sister's bedroom.  What would be his
purpose?  And was he even capable of the concept, let alone the execution?

"If you don't want to talk to me about what you've been doing.  Jimmy Bob,"

she said, desperate to get to whatever truth he could tell her, "then you can
give your explanations to the police."

"No police!"  His voice rose to a squeak.

Phoebe could tell he was fighting panic.  What was he hiding?  Who was he
trying to protect?

"Who put you up to this?"  she demanded, Vance being her first choice.

"No one!"  he yelled, trying to get past her.

Her pulse raced as she stood fast.

"Maybe the police will ask what else you know about my sister... and about
her murder."

Jimmy Bob instantly became as agitated as he had the morning before at the
Blue Crab.  Had she struck on some ribbon of truth?  Phoebe was ready to
throw the camera at him--an improvised weapon--and to run if she had to, but
the man made no threatening moves.

"Mr.  Boone did it!  They said so on the TV!"

"Maybe they were wrong."

Phoebe knew she was taking a chance baiting him.  Even if he was slow, he
could be dangerous.  nothing to say he couldn't have killed for money.

"But maybe you already know that," she went on.  "Maybe you had something to
do with Audra's death."

His sudden stricken expression surprised Phoebe; she was certain he wasn't
faking.

' "I would never hurt Miss Audra.  Not ever.  She was always nice to me."

"Then why weren't you nice in return?"

"I was.  And I would never do no thin' wrong.  Not to her.  I--11-loved her!"

Phoebe's momentary shock gave the handyman the edge long enough for him to
push by her.

"Jimmy Bob, wait!"  She followed him out the door.

"Who put you up to this?"

"I'm leavin' now!"  he yelled, flying down the stairs.

"Was it Vance Laughlin?  Audra's husband?"

"You can't stop me!"

Knowing she wasn't going to get an answer out of  him, Phoebe gave up.  She
stood at the top of the staircase for the moment it took him to cross the
living area and run out the door.  He didn't even stop long enough to collect
his tools.

Outside, his engine started right up and he wheeled his truck out of the
drive so fast that his tires squealed.

Leaving Phoebe clutching the camera and wondering whether Jimmy Bob was
really as innocent of wrongdoing as he claimed.  or if he knew more about her
sister's death and who was responsible than he was telling.

when simon arrived at Calder on Charters, Corky Slotnik was leaning over
Elise's desk, practically drooling on her.  She didn't seem to mind.  She was
smiling and laughing at something he'd said.

Figuring if he was going to be the boss he ought to act like one, Simon
cleared his throat.

"Glad to see we're all so busy this morning."

Corky's buzz cut practically bristled as he reluctantly straightened and went
back to his own desk, muttering,

"Ever hear of a coffee break?"

"So where's your coffee?"

Elise, too, had sobered at the sight of him, but rather than being hostile,
she seemed almost embarrassed.  Her exotic features were drawn, her soft
brown eyes avoiding his.

Stopping at her desk, he asked,

"Magnus out with a charter this rooming?"

Her eyebrows arched.

"No.  He goes out at noon, though."

 Simon checked his watch.  Not for an hour, then.

"You need him for something in particular?"  she asked.

"I'd just like to get to know him better," he hedged.  No need to raise her
suspicions.

"The other captains, too."

Calder on Charters owned a fleet of two moderate- sized cruisers, six manned
fishing boats and an equal number of lesser rental craft.  Indeed, Simon did
want to get to know his nearly three dozen full- and part- time employees,
but that wasn't the purpose of his seeking out Magnus Hanson this morning.
Like Elise, the captain had been with his brother from the first, and Simon
figured picking the old man's brain couldn't hurt.

The late morning was growing hot as he strolled out of the air-conditioned
office and onto the pier.  Halfway down, he stopped and watched Magnus Hanson
at work, checking over his deep-sea fishing equipment.

The grizzled man squinted up at him.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Calder on?"

"First of all, call me Simon."

"Simon it is.  Come aboard, then."

As he did so, Simon noticed Magnus's scrawny mate, Elijah Greer, at the other
end of the pier, huddled with a couple of hands from one of the cruisers.

"So, Magnus," he said without preamble, "tell me about my brother."

The captain nodded knowingly, as if he'd guessed Simon's reason for seeking
him out.

"Boone was a good man, he was.  Good to his employees."

 "What about women?  Was he good to them?"

Magnus's rheumy blue eyes met his.

"He was a man.  Men have their failings.

Thought he was changing his ways, though, with that Laughlin woman.  Damn
shame he didn't live long enough to find out.  "

No point in beating around the bush.

"So you think he killed her... and himself?"

"I ain't no expert on such matters."

"You've lived long enough to judge how a person thinks.  Is a good man
capable of killing?"

A gruff sound akin to a laugh escaped the old sailor.

"Any man can kill under the right circumstances."

As well he knew.

"What about these circumstances?"

"Could be wrong, but I don't believe so."

"I don't think he did, either," Simon said, realizing he meant that without
reservation.

"But I think just about everyone else does.  Including Elise."

He shook his head.

"That poor girl had it bad for your brother."

"I noticed."  Wondering who had the man's loyalty--his dead employer or a
live young woman he obviously liked, Simon got to his purpose for the visit.

"How long ago were they seeing each other?  Before Blair?"

"That was the last time, far as I know."

"Last?"  Simon echoed.

"They had an on-again, off-again kinda thing going.  Whenever he was between
women, Boone turned to Elise.  Or let her in, I guess you could say."

Which sounded as if Elise's affections had never  been returned, something
he hadn't expected.

"Surely that couldn't have been enough for her."

Magnus guffawed.

"Sex ever enough for any woman?"

Though Simon could think of one, he ruefully said, "Not usually."

' "Ah, poor Elise.  She took the crumbs.  Actually, I think she kinda forced
herself on your brother and he didn't fight her too hard.  Maybe she figured
if they were together enough, the relationship would take.  Only it never
did."

"Elise must have resented Audra, then."

"Didn't like her, that's for sure.  Thought she wasn't good enough for Boone."

Simon doubted Elise would have thought any woman good enough for his brother.
other than herself, of course.

Now the hard part.

"Did Elise ever say any thing specific about Audra's taking Boone away from
her?"

Magnus stared at him for a moment before saying, "Just 'cause I'm old don't
mean I'm a fool.  You want to know if I think she killed 'em, say so."

"Do you?"

Magnus flashed his decaying teeth at Simon in a weird grin.

"Didn't say I'd answer."  His gaze lifted to a spot above and behind Simon.

"Make sure we got enough beer this trip out, would you."

"Already did.  And we do."

Simon glanced over his shoulder at Elijah, whose features were pulled into a
disapproving frown.

 How long had the mate been standing there, listening to their conversation?

And why exactly did he seem so unhappy?

phoebe let the phone ring until she wanted to scream.  Where the heck was
Simon?  And why wasn't he trying to call her?

She felt like exploding.  Here she had new, possibly important information
and she didn't know what in the world to do with it.  She'd even tried him at
Calder on Charters but had missed him there, as well.

Noticing a party of four at her station, she slammed the receiver in its
cradle and seated them.

If only she could have gotten something concrete out of Jimmy Bob Dortch.

Like whether or not he'd planted the video equipment, either for
himself--after his last admission about his loving Audra, she had to consider
it--or for someone else; or whether he'd merely gone on a fishing expedition,
loo king for something of value to steal.

Then, again, the rest of the room hadn't seemed disturbed, as if the handyman
had known exactly what he was loo king for and where he'd find it.

Not that that was proof of any thing.

For all Phoebe knew, Audra could have had that camera installed herself--a
kinky if plausible explanation for its placement, and one the authorities
would be likely to buy.  She couldn't be sure they'd make the connection
between someone else's interest in her sister's bedroom activities (as in her
soon-to- be ex-husband) and her death.

 And to tell the truth, Phoebe wasn't sure she could make the connection,
either.

The thing that was really bothering her, though, went back to the journal
entry--her sister thinking someone had been watching her in her own bedroom.
The video camera would have provided the means for someone to watch without
actually being present.

Bubba?

If he'd been picked up yet.  Detective Sand st rom hadn't called to tell her.

But thinking of him reminded her of the other phone call she'd been meaning
to make--one to a certain Naples lawyer.  She meant to confirm the connection
between her brother-in-law and Bubba.

Returning to the telephone, she looked up the number and punched it in.

A moment later, a voice whose accent was distinctly New York answered,
"Donald Platt's office."

"May I speak to Mr. Platt, please?"

"Sorry, honey, but Mr. P's not in at the moment.  Wanna leave a message?"

Phoebe said,

"Actually, I'm calling to confirm an appointment for Vance Laughlin.  Do you
think you can do that for me?"

"I think I can manage," the woman said dryly.  "What day and time?"

"Tomorrow at three."

Only a few seconds passed before the secretary said,

"Nope," as Phoebe had known she would.

"No Laughlin on tomorrow's schedule."

"Oh, dear, he must have gotten the days confused," Phoebe said, trying to
sound flustered.

"Can  you check the rest of the week and maybe next week..."

A big sigh was followed by a

"What was his name again?"

"Laughlin.  Vance Laughlin."

"Hang on."

Disturbed that the woman didn't even know a client's name, Phoebe hoped this
was strictly a case of incompetence.  At least she was cooperating.

A moment later, the phone came alive again.  "Nope, not here, not anywhere in
the next two weeks.  Do you know when he made this appointment?"

Anxious now, Phoebe said,

"I believe the last time he was in the office.

You could check Mr. Platt's personal calendar.  He might have made a
notation.  "

"Oh, no, honey, that's impossible."

"Why?"

"Because he's never been here before or I'd know him.  I just figured Mr. P.
made an appointment and entered it himself when I was on break or something."

Uh-oh.

"He's tall, very fit, early forties."  Phoebe was trying to speak calmly, so
her tension didn't get through to the other woman.

"Dark brown hair with threads of silver at the temples" -- "Doesn't ring my
chimes.  Besides, we don't have a file on him, which means he's never been
here, which means he's not our client.  Look, honey, you got the wrong law
office."

Either that or Vance Laughlin wasn't the one who'd hired the lawyer to get
his dirty work done.

 But that couldn't be.  Vance had to be the one behind the photographs.

"Are you certain?"

"As sure as my name is Dot tie Rimes."

No sense in arguing with the woman.  Thanking her, Phoebe hung up.  More to
tell Simon.  if she ever connected with the man.

She tried his home number one more frustrating time.  Ten fruitless rings
later, she slammed the phone down.

After seating a couple, Phoebe wandered over to the bar and slid onto a stool.

Kevin gave her a once-over.

"You're the picture of cheer this afternoon."

"If I wasn't working, I'd let you get me drunk."

"" Thinking about Audra?  "

"I'm always thinking about her.  I rarely think about any thing else."

She wasn't about to tell him that Simon was practically her only distraction
from the double murder.

"It'll get easier."

"I don't want it to get easier.  I want it to get solved."  She hated the
pity she recognized in his gaze.

"Yeah, I know, you think I'm on a fool's errand."

"So-o-o, things aren't going the way you expected?"

Not having told Kevin about their close escape the night before--she neither
wanted to hear an / told you so nor to worry him--she said,

"Not exactly."

"I take it you didn't find this Bubba character, after all."

 "Oh, we found him, all right.  He was hired to follow Audra through a
lawyer, but I can't make the connection to Vance.  To make matters worse, I
caught Jimmy Bob Dortch in Audra's bedroom and" -- "You what?"

"He was removing some video equipment."

"Jimmy Bob... stealing?"

"Or making X-rated home movies," she said, still not convinced.

"I don't know what to think."

She gave him a quick rundown of what had transpired between the handyman and
her that morning.

Kevin reached across the bar and took her hand.  "Ah, Pheebs, I can't
apologize enough" -- "Why should you?"

"I feel responsible.  I recommended him to do the work.  Tell you what.  I'll
see if I can't track him down first thing tomorrow.  Maybe he'll talk to me."

"Thanks, Kevin."

"Hey, what are friends for?"

She should have taken him up on his offer to help in the first place, three
heads being better than two.  For the next hour, Phoebe kept herself busy
seating dinner guests.  Among them was the dark-haired woman her partner had
been coming on to the night before.  She noticed him stopping at the woman's
table.  They talked for a few minutes before Kevin bent over and whispered
something in her ear.  The woman laughed and whispered back.

And so she was not surprised when Kevin approached her later, saying,

"Hey, Pheebs, I have a chance for a hot date, but only if I can make it
early."

 Phoebe rolled her eyes at him.

"I suppose I can handle things around here," she said with a mock exasperated
sigh.

"Besides, you've been covering my butt for days.  So, when she leaves "
"Which seems to be right now."

"Goon with her."

"Pheebs, you're a peach."

"And you're a walking testament to testosterone," she muttered, slipping
behind the bar.

At first, things ran smoothly, Phoebe splitting her time between acting as
bartender and hostess, but her partner couldn't have been gone for more than
an hour before she had cause to regret his absence.

About to return to the bar after seating a party of six, she turned around
and ran smack into Vance Laughlin.

Immediately, she flew back, her heart pounding like mad.

"What are you doing here?"

"Loo king for you... and here you are."  His visage darkened.

"You have something of mine.  No one takes what's mine and gets away with it."

Nearly panicking thinking he'd known about the diary and had just found it
missing Phoebe tried to keep a cool head.

"I told you I gave that locket to Audra when we were kids.  It isn't worth
any thing to you."

"Screw the locket."

Pretending innocence, she asked,

"Then what?"

"Don't play with me, Phoebe.  You'll lose."

Her heart stalled out for a second.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Vance.  Furthermore, I don't have
time for this."

 She started to move away, but he caught her by the forearm with a cruel
grip and spun her around.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"  she demanded, keeping her voice
low, so as not to disturb the customers.

"I want that photograph," he told her.

"And I want it now!"

Phoebe gaped at him, speechless until he tightened his grip.  And though she
struggled, she couldn't free herself.

"You're creating a scene," she said through clenched teeth.

He gave her arm a sharp twist that made her cry out and caught the attention
of a couple at nearby table.

"I'll do more than create a scene " ' "Let go of the lady before I break your
arm," came a low threat from behind them.

Phoebe glanced back to see Simon glowering at Vance, his narrowed gaze
chilling.  He appeared as dangerous as a man could.

And she'd never been so glad to see anyone in her life!

Chapter Twelve Phoebe raised her eyes to the heavens and mouthed the words
thank you even as Vance whirled around, asking,

"Who the hell do you think you..."

His demand trailed off when he came face-to-face with Simon, and his grip
loosened enough that Phoebe was able to pull herself free.

"The name's Calder on."

Stepping into Simon's shadow, Phoebe realized she'd never seen her
brother-in-law look so spooked.  She swore his tan paled and his eyes opened
in horror.

"B-but... you're dead and buried."

"As you can see, I'm very much alive."  Simon gave him what Phoebe thought of
as an alligator grin.  "Oh ... you must be thinking of my brother Boone.  I
understand you were one of his biggest fans."

Vance cursed under his breath, then focused back on Phoebe.

"The photograph!"

"Time for you to leave now, Laughlin," Simon told him in a voice as cold as
steel.

"Go pick on someone your own size.  Maybe you want to start with me."

 To Phoebe's delight, Simon exuded danger.  An invisible power rippled from
him, his intensity filling the space between them as effectively as if it
were a tangible thing.

And while her brother-in-law seemed torn about whether or not to take him up
on the offer, in the end, he backed down.

"We're not through," Vance promised Phoebe, but it was apparent to her that
any thing more than bluster had been knocked out of him.

"Get lost, Laughlin," Simon said in a voice low enough for only the three of
them to hear, "before I decide to give you a hand straight into a swamp.  I
can make sure no one ever finds you."

With another curse, Vance left.

And a relieved Phoebe sagged into Simon, grateful for the steadying arm he
put around her.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, now that you're here."

Realizing she meant it in more than the physical sense, Phoebe grew restless.
Rubbing her arm where Vance had brutalized her, she pulled away from Simon
and moved toward the bar.

"What do you think Detective Sand st rom would say if I told him about this?"

"He'd probably threaten to arrest us for violating Laughlin's rights,"

Simon said, following close.

"So he knows about the photograph."

"I can't believe he figured out it was missing.  What does he do, fetch the
envelope every night, pull out the photos and gloat over his victims?"

"My guess is Bubba's more greedy than we gave  him credit for.  He's playing
both sides of the fence, keeping his options open.  I take it he hasn't been
picked up."

"If he has, I haven't been informed."

Customer traffic had slowed now, as had the demand for drinks.  They settled
at the bar, Phoebe pulling a few beers, Simon drinking one.  And as she
worked, she filled him in on the situation with Jimmy Bob.

"The plot thickens," Simon said.

"Maybe I should have a talk with your handyman, as well."

"Kevin already volunteered."

He looked around as if just realizing Kevin was gone.

"Where is your partner?"

"Making time with that woman he was flirting with last night."

Simon raised his beer in salute.

"Lucky man."

"You could have been lucky yourself," she reminded him, finally noticing how
different he looked.

How good he looked--clean-shaven and wearing casual dress clothes.

"Maybe I'm more particular," he said lightly.  "And I want to be wanted for
more than my body."

His body was nicely accentuated by pleated linen trousers and a collarless,
long-sleeved white shirt.

Phoebe felt a flush creep through her, but she wasn't about to back down.

"Can't handle being the object of a woman's lust, huh?"

"I can handle it just fine."  His eyelids drooped to their bedroom mode and
he inched closer to her  across the bar.

"As long as my partner admits to more."

"What if there isn't more?"  she asked stubbornly.

He smelled good, too.  She'd never noticed him wearing a scent before, but
tonight citrus mixed with musk pulsated from his every pore.

No wonder she felt a little lightheaded.

"Then I pity her."

"Oh, please," she muttered, fighting the attraction for all she was worth.

"I don't need this!  Save your pity for misguided women like Audra or my
mother."

"What do misguided women have to do with you and me?"

"nothing directly," she said, wondering how the conversation had gone so far
off track.

"They just set bad examples.  They give everything to a relationship and, in
the end, they're left with nothing to show for it but a broken heart."

Phoebe couldn't believe this.  They should be picking apart everything they'd
learned in an effort to prove Vance had murdered their siblings--or had them
murdered.

"You've got it all figured out, don't you?"  he asked.

"And so you're willing to chance nothing so you can protect yourself."

"Let's just say I'm smarter than other women in my family have been."

"If you were smarter, you would pick better men.  Instead, you're cheating
yourself."

And Simon seemed intent on ripping her apart.

"So you're telling me you're a better man?"

The way he was loo king at her put a lump in  Phoebe's throat.  What in the
world did he want of her?  She was who she was.  Why couldn't he just leave
it alone?

"How good a man I am is something for you to decide."  He pushed away from
the bar.

"In the meantime, I'd better get a move on.  I'm already fashionably late."

Remembering he'd made a date to have dinner with Boone's ex-fiancee, Phoebe
bit back an unwelcome urge to snap at him.

"Right.  From what I remember, Blair Rat cliff doesn't like to be kept
waiting."

"That's her problem."

And Simon was becoming hers, Phoebe realized, fighting an unexpected urge to
panic when she recognized the searing flare ripping through her to be
jealousy.

"What's the point?"  she asked tersely.

"Of having dinner with a beautiful woman?"

"Well, when you put it like that" -- "I figure it'll be interesting."

"Right."

"But I'll be back to tell you all about it," he promised.

"Don't bother."

"I thought you wanted to find a murderer."

Phoebe gaped as the conversation came full circle.  And decided to change her
tune.

"What time?"  she asked sweetly.

He smirked.

"It all depends on Blair."

And then he left.

Leaving Phoebe glaring at his back, wanting to  throw something, and certain
that Simon was purposely trying to drive her crazy.

the wharf hung over Naples Bay, nearly the entire restaurant having been
built on its own pier.  Simon entered via the street level bar nearly
half-past nine.

He spotted Blair immediately.  Surrounded by several others in her circle,
she was holding court rather than blending into the crowd.  And quite a queen
she made, dressed in a chamois-colored dress that gave the illusion of
nudity, and a stunning gold collar on which was set a large central topaz.

He knew she saw him but took pains not to recognize his presence.

Obviously, she was waiting for him to interrupt, to make public his apologies
for being late.

Instead, Simon parked himself near a potted ficus and waited for her to make
the first move.

Which she quickly did.

With a smile fixed on her lovely face, she made her excuses and approached
him.

"I thought you didn't like staying up late."

' "Since you changed the time, I decided a nap was in order."

"Good.  Then you'll be ready for... any thing."

He could tell she felt challenged.  Good.  Keep her on her toes, unaware of
his true purpose.

Blair had already arranged for a romantic table for two.  On the way there,
Simon felt a half-dozen pairs of eyes following them.

"You're giving people the willies," she murmured,  sounding pleased.

"They think they're seeing a ghost."

"And you're loving every minute.

Her smiled confirmed it.  Obviously she got off on rattling cages, starting
with the parents who hadn't approved of her relationship with his brother.

He recognized her type.  She was used to having the upper hand.

Well, he was going to give it to her.

"So, Simon, what is it you do?"

"I live with nature as best I can."

* "Well, here in southern Florida, we all do to some extent."

"But I do it in the swamps."

Her eyebrows arched.

"I see."  "So, no potential here.  Just shock value for the old folks."

"Excuse me?"

"No need, as far as I'm concerned," Simon assured her.

"How long will it take Mommy and Daddy to find out you've done it again?"

Blair sighed.

"They'll probably be waiting up to lecture me."

The arrival of a bottle of wine interrupted them.

Blair informed him that she'd already ordered for both of them and quickly
added,

"Hope you don't have any objections."

Figuring that would probably please her--and deciding to choose his
battles--Simon shrugged and raised his glass in toast.

"Whatever is good enough for the lady..."

After they'd both tasted and commented on the  quality of the wine, he
steered the conversation back where they'd left off.

"I have a suggestion that beats boredom.  Why not get a life, so you don't
have to try so hard?"

A frowned marred the perfection of her face.

"I have a life, thank you."

"I mean one that makes you happy.  I'm a big believer in personal
satisfaction."

The frown lightened.

"You sound a lot like Boone."

"We were a lot alike."  And he was becoming more comfortable with that.

Blair sipped at her wine then looked out to the bay, dark but for the lights
of docked boats and surrounding restaurants.

"I did care for your brother in my own way."

The first honest emotion Simon had felt from her.

"So you weren't quite so blase about the breakup as you tried to make me
believe."

"I am human."

"It must have been embarrassing at first, having to listen to your friends
try to comfort you."

"I got through it by getting away from them.  I took a cruise."

"The Keys?"

"I always go for the exotic.  The Bahamas... Jamaica ... Haiti..."

"Haiti," he echoed, the voodoo doll instantly springing to mind.

"Interesting."

"Very," she agreed.

"The scenery.  The food.  The culture."

 "Religious aspects," he added as their appetizers were delivered.

Garlic shrimp, accent on the garlic.  He bit back a smile and into his food.

Blair said,

"I'm not exactly what you'd call a religious person."

"I would think you of all people would be intrigued by the black arts.

Santeria.  Voodoo.  "

' "I was more interested in worshiping the sun during the day and being an
object of worship at dance clubs at night."

Simon let the conversation lull for a moment while they worked on the shrimp.

He even refilled their wine glasses before casually saying,

"You really didn't come into any contact with the black arts?"

Blair set down her glass and narrowed her gaze at him.

"Hmm, I'm getting the distinct feeling this interest in mumbo-jumbo isn't
casual."

"You wouldn't have brought back some unusual souvenir?"  he went on.

"A

voodoo doll, for example?  "

"Now why would I do that?"

"Because you hated Audra Laughlin?"

' "I might make fun of lots of institutions, Simon, but death is not
something I take lightly or that I would fool with."

"Some one did."

He told her about finding the doll.

"And you thought / was responsible?"  She sounded indignant.

"That's the reason for this dinner?"

 "Truthfully, I didn't think any such thing until you mentioned the cmise
and Haiti.  Besides, who else would have reason to curse Audra?"

Blair sat back in her chair and snorted.

"Try that twit, Elise Navarro.

She plays the martyr, the faithful woman wronged, very well, when in fact
Boone never had any serious interest in her.  "

"She thinks highly of you, too."

"She was always poking her nose into our business," Blair said.

"You should be giving her and her uncle the third degree instead of me."

"Uncle?"

' "The old man who works as a mate on one of the fishing boats.  Elijah
something or other."

"Elijah Greer is Elise's uncle?"

He'd realized Boone's assistant was of mixed heritage, of course, but he
hadn't made that connection.

"Great-uncle, I believe.  On her mother's side.  The Cuban part comes from
her father's family.  Anyway, if anyone would know about voodoo dolls, old
Elijah would be the one.  He is from New Orleans."

No wonder the mate had looked at him so darkly after eavesdropping on his
conversation with Magnus.  Old Elijah was protective of his own blood.

Exactly how protective was the question.  phoebe didn't want to have to think
too hard on why Simon didn't come back for her as promised.

Could Blair hold the same fascination for him as she had for Boone?

Unable to think of another reason he'd want to be with the socialite in the
first place, she admitted to  unwelcome feelings of rivalry.  Not that she
stood a chance against someone as slick as Blair Rat cliff.  All that talk of
her being a woman scorned and therefore suspect was just talk.  The socialite
didn't care enough about anyone else to exert herself to get revenge.

And murder?

She might ruin her manicure.  Disgruntled on general principles, Phoebe
locked up the moment the last table emptied.  Within a quarter of an hour,
she had what was left of her staff out the door and was headed for home
herself.

No way was she going to wait around for Simon to show his face.  if he ever
did.

No way was she going to acknowledge her disappointment as being any thing
more than a desire to hang Audra and Boone's murders on Vance and make them
stick.

Only.  why did she feel as if her theory about her brother-in-law was
unraveling?

Too many ifs.

Bubba.  Donald Platt.  Jimmy Bob Dortch .  to name only three.

How did they fit into the picture?

Somehow, Phoebe was certain, they were all connected, but tonight she was too
tired to figure it out.  Hard enough to keep herself going, to keep her eyes
open to drive, even with the top down.

Rather than waking her, the cool night air lulled her into longing for her
own bed and a good night's sleep.

And if Simon Calder on had one lick of compassion for her, he'd stay the heck
out of her dreams.

 Yawns attacked her fast and furious as she turned into her development.

Luckily, she could drive the winding route in her sleep.

Away from the denser segment of the complex and arriving within sight of her
house, Phoebe reached for the passenger sunshade, attached to which was the
controller for the automatic garage door opener.  She pressed the Open button
and slowed the convertible.  Carefully, she slid into her parking spot, which
had been narrowed considerably by several large boxes of unassembled shelving
and office furniture she'd recently bought for her den.

She flicked the controller again to close the garage door, then cut the
engine.

Not until the rolling door cut her off from the outside did she realize the
interior garage light was out and that she was stranded in total darkness.

Resourceful as usual, she opened the car door and used the courtesy light to
identify the back door key.

About to slide out of the seat, she hesitated when something nearby stirred.
The fine hairs on the backs of her arms raised, but hard as she strained to
listen, Phoebe didn't hear the noise repeated.

No doubt some nocturnal animal was sniffing around the outside of the garage
for food.

Anxious to get to her bed, she left the car and moved toward the door, her
exhaustion making her clumsy.  She knocked into a garbage can, sending a lid
shooting off to land with a noisy clatter.

And then from the other side of the garage, another sound, this one far more
sinister, froze her to the spot.

A hiss.

 Not a faint hiss.

Too piercing.

No tiny, timid creature this.

Her mouth went dry and her fingers slipped so that she almost dropped the key
ring.  The noise of metal- on-metal seemed to echo through the garage.

Another hiss.

Too familiar.

How many times had she heard it in the swamp the night before?

A quick movement rattled the boxed furniture.  Phoebe envisioned a large,
scaly body lunging over the pile.  She'd read about alligators getting locked
in garages, one of those expected nuisances of living in a former swamp.  The
idea didn't thrill her.

Too scary to stick around to find out for sure.

Phoebe flew toward the door, fumbling fingers somehow managing to snap on her
flashlight.  Thankfully, she could see what she was doing when she shoved the
key into the lock.

Problem was.  the key wouldn't turn.

"Damn!"

What a time for the lock to stick.  She tried again with no results.

"Double damn!"

Another scrabble and hiss in return--this one more threatening--made her
jiggle the handle and throw her shoulder into the door, but neither budged.

More slithering.  more hissing.  getting closer.  what to do?

Her worst nightmare lay not in the wilderness of Simon's swamp but in the
civilization of her own  garage.  Shaking, Phoebe knew her only escape lay
with her car, and that she had to get out fast before the thing got to her!

She flew back toward the open convertible, again knocking into the trash can,
which toppled this time, spewing bags of garbage across the garage floor.
Rotting food issued a siren's call to the creature, and it scrabbled closer.
faster.  seemingly scooting directly under the car.

Trying to keep her head, Phoebe jumped over the closed driver's door to get
out of the way, whom ping her left shin in the process.  She landed in a
tangled heap and fought tears of pain and fear.

Once securely seated, her heart pounding so loudly she couldn't hear the
sounds from below, she had trouble making the key fit the ignition.

Finally it took, and she started the engine.  But in her haste reaching for
the garage door opener, she knocked the control box straight off the sunshade
and right out of the car.

"Triple damn!"

The motor was running, but if she wanted to get the car out of the garage,
she needed the controller.  Or she had to get to the switch next to the door.
Either way, she'd have to chance meeting a hungry, maybe angry gator in the
dark.

Then, again, she could just smash through her garage door.  a very distinct
possibility if she was left with no choice.

Wanting in the worst way to scream her frustration, Phoebe did just that.

She opened her mouth and yelled,

"Heel-lp!  Some on-n-the!"  at the same time leaning on the car horn for all
she was worth.

Chapter Thirteen Blasts on a car horn and a woman's screams coming from
Phoebe's place put wings to Simon's feet.  He practically flew down the last
hundred yards of the road to her garage and banged on the door.

"Phoebe!"  he yelled.

"What's going on?"

But she obviously couldn't hear over the din she was making.

Without a clue as to the trouble she was in, he was desperate.

The lanai!

Simon breached the screened door and expected he'd have to break the guest
bathroom window to get inside the house.  As he circled the pool, he swept
his gaze around every corner, seeking out trouble but connecting with
something odd instead.

Part of the sheer curtain at the breakfast nook bunched between the sliding
glass door and the jam.

He raced to check it out.

Even as the door slid open, the horn blasts and screams for help stopped.

Heart pounding, praying Phoebe was alive and un hurt, Simon hit a bank of
lights, then found the short hallway that led to the garage.  The door stuck.
Leaping up to grab onto a decorative ledge overhead and praying it would
hold, he swung back and let his body carry his weight forward with his legs
aimed straight at the door.  Both feet rammed into the latch side hard enough
to jolt his spine and snap his head back.

But with an explosion of sound, the panel ripped free of the frame and flew
open.  He landed in a crouch on the balls of his feet, ready to do battle,
astonished at the sight that greeted him.

The convertible, top down and lights on, with Phoebe straddling the driver's
seat and one aggressive and obviously aggravated alligator negotiating the
bumper, seemingly determined to get at her.

"Simon!"  came Phoebe's strangled-sounding call.  "What do I do?"

Once the gator climbed onto the hood, she would be in real trouble, Simon
knew.  The creature moved fast and she had nowhere to go!

"Door opener?"

"At the wall!"  she yelled, pointing.

Picking up the nearest loose object at hand--an old muddy shoe she'd left
outside the door, Simon chucked it at the gator to give Phoebe an extra few
seconds, while he danced around an overturned garbage can to get at the
switch.

As he hit it, he said,

"Back the car out."

"You want me to get into the driver's seat with an alligator on the hood?"

"He won't be for long."

Simon picked up the nearly empty garbage can and,  to dissuade the alligator
from advancing, tossed it with a loud war cry.

The can bounced off the beast, the remaining garbage splattering the
windshield and fender.

Eyes glowing red in the semidarkness, the fierce reptile hissed at him, but
slid off the hood.

"Now!"  Simon shouted.

Phoebe jumped back into the driver's seat and quickly put the car into gear.
Backing it up before the door fully rose, she slid through the opening with
mere inches to spare.

And, as he figured it would, the gator sniffed its freedom and made a swift
dash for it, slinking out of the garage and disappearing into the dark.

Simon took a deep shuddering breath and let his tensed muscles relax.

While alligators rarely went after humans, this one had been both riled and
cornered.  If he hadn't arrived in the nick of time-Phoebe's head was bowed.
Her forehead touched the steering wheel.  She remained like that only for a
moment before straightening and moving the car back into the garage.  When
she cut the engine, she sagged back into her seat.

"What the hell happened?"  he asked, hitting the switch to close the garage
door.

"happened," she said.

"I spoiled the gator's nap with all the noise I made coming home, I guess.
He got a little annoyed with me."

' "The garage door was down?"

"No.  I always leave an open invitation for swamp things to visit."

"Then how did he get in here?"

 "He could've been here for a couple of days for all I know.  It happens.

Only.  "

"What?"

"I'd bet dollars to doughnuts the door lock never jammed on anyone else right
after finding an unwelcome reptile in the garage."

"I couldn't open it from my side, either," a troubled Simon admitted.

"That's why I had to kick in the door."

Which meant a closer inspection of the faulty mechanism might prove fruitless.

Why had a perfectly good lock jammed unless someone had helped it along?

Which would mean someone had wanted her to be locked in the garage with a
pissed-off alligator.  The murderer.

That led to another string of questions, starting with how the perpetrator
had gotten into Phoebe's house in the first place.

"You obviously need a security system," he said grimly.

"I was able to get into the lanai without a problem, and" -- "Whoa!"  Phoebe
burst out of the car and slammed the door.

"You're lecturing me?"

"Some one needs to be concerned about your safety."

Which he was, more than he cared to admit.

Phoebe stalked by him, but she stopped at the busted door and stared at it.
Her shoulders sagged.

"My own personal commando to the rescue."  Without loo king at him, she
muttered,

"By the way, thanks."

 "You're welcome, by the way."

Moving closer to her, Simon could see she was shaking and trying to hide the
fact.  Taking advantage of her momentary weakness, he pulled her around and
pressed her into his chest where she unsuccessfully tried to hold back tears.
Within seconds, his shirtfront was damp.

Simon stood there, patting Phoebe's back, thinking he should do more.

Wanting to do more.  He'd never felt so helpless.  All he could do was let
her cry.

Suddenly, she seemed to realize what she was doing.

"Oh, no," she muttered with a sniff.

"I'm ruining your good shirt."

"The shirt will survive."

Just as she had, thank God.

"I'm okay," she assured him between one last sob and a hiccup.

"I tend to cry when I get mad and frustrated."

"You don't have to feel bad about letting out your emotions.  An aggressive
gator would have been enough to scare anyone."

"I wouldn't be so emotional if I wasn't so blind tired," she protested,
ineffectually trying to free herself.

"All I could think about all the way home was getting a good night's sleep."

"Shh," he murmured, refusing to let go, brushing his lips across the top of
her head.

"You don't have to explain."

Though he kind of liked her babbling.  It was a soft side of Phoebe he hadn't
seen nearly enough of.  Not only did it turn him on physically, but it
brought out  his protective instincts, made him feel part of something.

Part of her.

He'd kept to himself too much, too long, and he was ready for a change.

For her.  Question was, did she return the feeling?

"I'm afraid if you let me go," Phoebe murmured, "I'll collapse into a puddle
and not be able to get up."

"That's easy enough to fix."

Without warning, he lifted her into his arms and carried her inside the
house.  Despite the grim situation, a rueful smile twitched at his lips.

He'd never thought of himself as hero material, but the moment--and this
woman who'd gotten under his skin-- gave him an inflated perspective.

He took Phoebe straight to her bedroom where he laid her gently on the bed.
Her eyes were drooping as if she was ready to fall asleep instantly, but the
feminine arms hooked around his neck were determinedly locked tight.

"Don't leave me," she whispered.

"Not tonight."

A demand easy enough to obey.  Simon had no desire to be anywhere but with
her.

He couldn't get the broken door out of his mind.  Couldn't forget the danger
she'd been in.  Couldn't forget the possible consequences.

He'd just lost a brother.  A twin.  Part of himself.

He couldn't chance losing her, too, not when he'd just found her.  How had
she become so important to him so quickly?  Simon wondered.

He still didn't want to put words to the emotions  he was feeling.  He was
afraid she wouldn't return them, that he would scare her off before he had a
chance to win her.

He flattened his hands on either side of Phoebe's shoulders, while asking,
"What is it you want?"

"You."

"Why?"

"Because I need you right now."

He could have done without the right now part, but she'd said need, as well.

That's all Simon wanted to think about as he lowered himself onto her and
took her mouth in a deep, soul-searching kiss.  She responded in kind,
nesting her body in the hollows of his, drawing the very breath from him,
twisting his heart into unfamiliar knots.

He touched her as he'd wanted to every time he'd been near her the past few
days.  Face.  throat.  breasts.  he took pleasure in claiming them all.

He wanted nothing more than to claim her completely right there.

Breaking the kiss, he murmured,

"Phoebe, if any thing had happened to you..."

"What?  You weren't trying to chomp on me, though that's not a half-bad
idea," she said suggestively.

But now was not the time for humor.  Deadly serious, he told her,

"I would never have forgiven myself for getting you into this."

"Uh-uh.  / got you into this."

 She pulled her smooth cheek across his clean- shaven one.  She felt so damn
soft.  Helpless.

"But I should have known better," he went on.

"I should have insisted we let the police handle the investigation."

He knew she wasn't helpless, of course.  She was smart and resourceful.

But the killer was more so.

And the killer didn't have her sense of honor.

"You could have insisted all you wanted," she murmured.

"I wouldn't have agreed."

"Then I would have made you."

Who could have tried to run them down?  he wondered, the answer taking on
increasing urgency.  Who could have trapped an alligator in her garage?

"Two attempts on your life in two days."  He shook his head in disbelief.

"Letting this go on is unthinkable."

"Stopping now would be unthinkable."

"You're talking nonsense."

He thought about the voodoo doll.  Elise.  She could have handled the
four-by-four, not the gator.

But Elijah could have.

OrBubba.  Phoebe pushed at him and once freeing herself, rolled over.

"Don't speak to me as if I'm a nitwit."

"Then don't act like one" was out of his mouth before he thought about it.

Still, he had a point.  She wanted to steam ahead blindly, damn the
consequences.  He wasn't ready to sacrifice her.  or let her sacrifice
herself.

"I think you ought to leave."

 "I'm not going anywhere."

"This is my house."

Temper rising, he demanded,

"Is that how you solve all your relationship problems?  If you can't win, you
take your ball and go home?"

He wasn't the only one who was angry.  Her hazel eyes blazed at him and her
features hardened, sharpening the angles.  And talk about body language-while
only moments before, her shoulders had been slumped in defeat, her spine now
seemed to be made of steel.

"Who's talking about a relationship here?"  she demanded.

"/ am.  Or don't you ever want to have one with a man?"

"Not if it means that man gives me orders and expects me to follow them!"

"Even if it's in your best interest?"

"Not even then.  I can decide what my own best interest is, thank you so
much.  I'm nothing like Audra."

Is that what she thought?  That if she gave in to feelings and let someone
have some say in her life that she would be like her sister?

"Then why do you keep comparing yourself to her?"  he asked.

Her jaw tightened.

"You can leave anytime."

"Get this straight--you're not Audra, and I'm not Boone."

He read the uncertainty deep in her eyes, bright with new, unshed tears.

He thought she might soften.

But when she said,

"Right, he didn't hide in a  swamp because he didn't want to deal with
life," Simon knew he wasn't going to win, not tonight.

Possibly not ever.

"Then maybe I should disappear back into my swamp and stay there for good,"
he muttered, finally choosing to retreat.  He slammed out of the house the
way he'd come, yelling,

"And lock this door behind me!"

Leaving via the lanai, he waited until he'd rounded the pool before glancing
back.  She was on the other side of the sliding door, doing as he'd ordered.

Thank God she had enough sense to realize that was in her best interest!

Simon was starting down the road toward his car before he cooled off enough
to think rationally.  If whoever had set up Phoebe with the gator wasn't
still around, the person might be back to check on his handiwork.

No matter how mad she made him, he couldn't leave her unprotected.

Detouring to the other side of the road, Simon headed straight for the giant
old banyan tree, which had dropped dozens of roots that had taken in the soil
and thickened.  He could easily lose himself within the shelter of its maze
and have a clear view of her place.

No matter that Phoebe thought she could take care of herself, he wouldn't
abandon her until this matter was settled one way or the other.  Some one had
killed his twin and her half-sister.  Some one obviously not averse to
doubling his crime.  Simon wouldn't rest until he saw justice done.

Making himself as comfortable as he could, he waited for the killer to return
or for the sun to rise.

 phoebe spent what had to be the longest night in her life tossing and
turning, getting out of bed and touring the house, checking the windows and
doors-- doing everything but sleep.

Well, maybe she slept a little.  A few minutes here and there.  Every time
she drifted off, however, another ghost crashed her dreams.

A four-by-four vehicle on a rampage.

An alligator with a grudge.

Audra floating face down in a swimming pool.

Simon vowing to lose himself in a swamp.

Better to stay awake than to chance more nightmares.

If only she could make her mind stop playing tricks on her while awake.

She kept seeing Simon in all his moods, kept feeling things best ignored, no
matter how hard she tried to vanquish the memories.

Lack of sleep caught up to Phoebe at work the next day, when she seated the
lunch crowd with as much enthusiasm as a zombie.  Her lack of joie de vivre
did not go unnoticed.

"See, this is what happens when I take an unscheduled night off," Kevin
cheerfully chided her as she joined him during the late afternoon lull.

"You work yourself so hard you become a basket case."

Her partner was sitting at a table between the ocean and the bar just in case
he had to jump up to fill an order.  Phoebe dumped herself in a chair
opposite.  She probably ought to tell him why she hadn't slept, but  she
didn't feel like going into it.  Didn't want to hear another lecture like the
one she'd had from Simon.

She gave a grin her best shot but figured it looked forced.

"I look that good, huh?"

"You're letting the stress get to you, Pheebs."  Kevin reached across the
table and patted her hand.  "But don't worry, no more advice from me."

"Not even of the romantic sort?"

' "Did the word 'romantic' just pass your lips?  Alert the media!"  His
expression knowing, he said,

"So Simon Calder on got to you."

Phoebe ignored the obvious.  She'd like to skip this discussion altogether.

Then, again, Kevin was a good sounding board.  She switched to a related
topic that had been bugging her more and more lately.

"Do you think I'm like Audra?"

She hadn't thought so herself not until she'd started reading her sister's
diary and imagining herself with Boone's brother.

"I don't see much resemblance."

"Not looks.  The kind of women we are."  She frowned.

"Or were, I guess."

Kevin's intense scrutiny made her shift in her seat.  She wondered why the
question bothered him so much, which it must considering he took his sweet
time answering.

"That what Calder on thinks?"  he finally asked.

She shook her head.

"It's me.  All me.  I'm afraid of falling into the same traps that Audra did."

"I'm hearing it's already too late.  Poor Pheebs.  Just another besotted
mortal."

Knowing that he was right that Simon had too  quickly become more than an
object of lust to her, she groaned.

"Oh, Kev, what am I going to do?"

"Chill out, for one.  You'll survive."

"How?"

"A clear head will help you sort it out.  Getting some rest would be a good
start."

"You mean now?"  she asked incredulously.

"I'm not bowing out on you again tonight."

"We won't get busy for a while.  My place is your place, so to speak, so get
your butt upstairs.  Take a nap."

"Forget my trying to sleep."

"Then just veg out.  Watch television.  Relax.  C'mon, you really do look
like hell."

Not knowing what else to do, having all the energy of a turnip, Phoebe nodded.

"It couldn't hurt."

"Good girl."

Once upstairs, she stretched out on Kevin's couch and tuned the television to
the evening news.  Oh, Lord, a couch had never felt so good.

She tried to concentrate on the anchorman's voice, but he seemed to drone on
and on and on.  phoebe awoke to a room dark but for the square of blazing,
moving light that, once she was able to focus properly, proved to be the
television.

She tried to concentrate on some comedy bit that, in the end, didn't seem in
the least funny to her.  Maybe she'd lost her sense of humor.

At first she didn't remember where she was.  Then realization set in and she
sat up with a jerk.

Kevin!

 She'd left the burden of their business on him for yet another night.

Several hours had passed.  Why hadn't he sent someone to wake her up?  At
least she was feeling better--no doubt his purpose in leaving her alone.

He was always loo king out for her.  A woman couldn't have a better friend.

Wanting to turn off the television, she looked for the controller, but it
seemed to have disappeared.  She snapped on a table lamp and searched all
around.  When the controller didn't surface, she figured the couch ate it
while she was sleeping.  Hopefully, Kevin could get the cushions to burp the
dam thing up.

Phoebe stretched luxuriously and realized how much better she felt as she
crossed to the entertainment center so she could turn off the set manually.

She swore her partner had every electronic gadget around.  In addition to
equipment, he owned an amazing collection of CDs and videotapes.  She
automatically scanned them to see if he'd bought any thing interesting.

A few X-rated video titles made her grin.  And a few black boxes with names
she recognized penciled in.  Tourists he'd dated.  Lovely "magnetic" girls to
stand in when he couldn't get a live one to keep him company?  As if that
ever happened.

About to head back downstairs, one of those plain black boxes shoved behind
the others, caught her eye.

Audra was scribbled across the label.

A weird feeling whispered through her.

Kevin had known her sister, of course.  The three of them had shared dinner
several times when Audra  had started having trouble with Vance and would
come to stay with her for a few days here and there.  But why would he have a
videotape of her?

Then it hit her.  Jimmy Bob.

Kevin had promised to talk to the handyman, to straighten him out.  She'd
forgotten to ask him about it.

Thinking about Jimmy Bob Dortch taping her sister's private moments for his
amusement made her queasy.  Kevin must have confiscated this videotape from
the man.

Feeling somewhat as she had when she'd first opened the diary, Phoebe turned
the television back on and put the tape in the recorder for a quick look.

She had to know for sure.  Hand trembling, she pushed Start, then sat back on
the floor.  Her worst fears immediately confirmed, Phoebe averted her gaze
from the screen.

About to stop the tape, she froze when she realized something important.

Boone's hair had been dark, exactly like Simon's.  This man's hair was fair.

Unable to help herself, she looked again, her focus going beyond the raw
physical actions.  The view gave a wide angle of the whole bed.  The man's
back was toward the camera.  Even so, he was sickeningly familiar.

He rolled over, bringing Audra up over him, and in that instant, her worst
fears were confirmed.

With a trembling hand, she stopped the tape.

How could she not have known?

Heart in her throat, she tore out of the apartment  and to her car, instinct
driving her to find Simon, even as she heard Kevin call after her.

"Hey, Pheebs, wait up!"

She ran blindly and got behind the wheel.

She drove fast along the side streets of Marco.  Her mind spun faster.

Recounted an entry in the diary.  He's making life miserable for me.  Won't
accept that I've left him for good.  That it's over.  That I have no feelings
for him.  if I ever did.

She'd assumed Audra had been writing about Vance.  That she was talking about
her marriage being over.

Went for drinks with him.  One last try to convince him in a civilized
manner.  He saw it as his chance to woo me back into his bed, into his life.

A bed she hadn't known Audra had slept in, Phoebe thought, finding it hard to
breathe.

Why?

How could she have been so blind?  How could Audra have been so secretive?

Phoebe didn't need to hear her sister's voice to know.  Audra had feared that
Phoebe would disapprove--again.  The same reason she hadn't said any thing
about Boone at first.  Until she'd been sure of him.

More of the passage came to mind.

When I resisted, he turned ugly, acted like he could force me if he wanted
to.  I told him to go to hell and got home on my own.

A man capable of violence.  But Vance, while psychologically abusive, had
never been violent to her sister.

 He doesn 't care about me, really, just doesn 't want to lose a trophy.

But I don't want to lose my sanity.  or my life.

No, not Vance Laughlin.

Kevin Salt is.

It was her partner who treated women like trophies.

And unless she was horribly wrong, her partner and best friend was also a
murderer.

simon awoke with a start.  He hadn't meant to sleep this long, but he'd
fought to stay awake all night and for a better part of the day to play
guardian to Phoebe.  Exhaustion had finally won the battle.

It had grown dark and the Blue Crab parking lot was nearly deserted.

Tension drew him taut when he didn't immediately see Phoebe's convertible.

What he did see was her partner frantically tear down the stairs from his
apartment and get into a sports car.

Salt is was going to leave with Phoebe already gone?

That didn't sit well.

Instinct drove Simon to follow even before Salt is drove out of the lot.  Not
wanting to be obvious, he'd left his truck on the side street and had
hunkered down on the porch of a temporarily closed establishment.  Fetching
the vehicle, he was sorry he'd felt it necessary to stay out of Phoebe's line
of fire.

Even so, he was able to play catch-up fast enough to spot the sports car
zigzagging through traffic on the road back to the mainland.  Only when he
got  there, Kevin Salt is didn't go north as Simon had expected.

He turned south.

Away from civilization.

Thoughts grim, Simon followed Phoebe's partner straight into the heart of his
own territory.

Chapter Fourteen That she was being followed didn't become obvious until
Phoebe turned off the highway and onto the road that would take her to
Simon's place.

The lights behind her swept low along the pavement-.

A sports car.

Her heart thudded, but she told herself to calm down, that Kevin couldn't do
any thing to her once she found Simon.  A little voice reminded her that he'd
killed both her sister and Simon's brother, but she figured that happened
only because they hadn't been forewarned, hadn't known what was coming.

But she knew.

Kevin was set on killing them both.

Phoebe practically cried for joy when she reached the narrow undeveloped side
road that would take her straight in to Simon's place.  And she almost wept
real tears when she didn't see his truck.  No vehicle sat parked on the
crushed shell pad beneath his home.

What to do?

She couldn't go back.  There was only that one way  in and out, and Kevin
would be right behind her.  A convertible with the top down offered no
protection, as she'd discovered the night before.

She cut the engine and lights and left the car.  Praying she would remember
the path she'd taken with Simon, Phoebe decided to trust her fate to the
swamp itself.

But before she got more than a few yards, the sports car swept in front of
her and Kevin stuck his head.  out the window.

"Going somewhere?"

Phoebe froze to the spot as her partner alighted from the car, a gun in hand.
He let the weapon hang at his side.  For now.

Where the hell was Simon when she needed him?

"Why couldn't you leave well enough alone like I asked you to, Pheebs?"

Kevin positioned himself between her and the two vehicles.  The moon gave her
a clear view of his face.  He appeared torn, as if he was already regretting
what he was about to do.  How gratifying.

"You should have listened to me," he went on.

"I care about you, really.

I'll never find another partner I like better.  Then, again, it's time to
sell the business and move on, maybe go solo next time.  "

"The police will track you down wherever you go."

Kevin laughed.

"They've already let me get away with two murders."

All the anguish Phoebe had been feeling welled up in a single word: "Why?"

She swallowed hard  against the sickness that threatened her inside.

"What did my sister ever do to you?"

"She used me.  When she was still married to that creep Laughlin and she
wanted some thrills, she came on to me."

"And you just couldn't resist."

"Hey, for once I tried out of respect for you.  But Audra knew how to work a
man to get what she wanted.  She drove me crazy with lust until I would do
any thing she asked.  Every time was better than the last.  Her arsenal of
tricks was spectacular, I must admit.  I couldn't think about any thing else.

And then one day she walked away from me straight into Boone Calder on's
arms.  Giving her time to get tired of him was my big mistake.  "

As if he could force a woman to love him in return.

"You're the one who had her followed and photographed."  Not to mention
videotaped.  When he merely shrugged in agreement, Phoebe added,

"And you started to see that Audra wasn't going to tire of Boone."

"And I couldn't stop wanting her.  You don't know what it's like when every
waking moment, every dream is filled with one person.  Some one you can't
have."

"Oh, I have some idea," she countered, thinking of the way Simon had withheld
what she'd thought she wanted from him.

"Your sister obsessed me, tormented me.  And then paraded that swamp boy
around like I had no feelings."

 "Audra wasn't a cmel person.  And she was in love."

"She was a selfish bitch!"  Kevin insisted.

"You asked me if you're like her.  No, Pheebs, you're everything she wasn't.
It should have been you I fell for, not her.  Then none of this would have
happened."

Or she would have been the dead one, Phoebe thought, since she would never
have loved him in return.  At least, not the kind of love that led a woman to
a man's bed and made her want to stay there forever.  Simon was the only man
she'd ever met who'd made her think she was ready to take that chance.

She did love Simon, Phoebe realized.  And if she was brave enough--and lucky
enough to remain alive--she would tell him so.

Maybe then he would bed her.

But first she had to figure out how to stay alive long enough to find out.

"I'm not your type, Kevin."

She was stalling, loo king around for an escape route.

"No, Pheebs, you're not.  You're more like the kid sister I never had."

The words made her shiver.  And yet.  "I felt like you were the brother I'd
always wanted."  The truth.  As a man who hadn't threatened her, he'd been
able to get closer to her than anyone but Audra.

"Why, Kev?  Why couldn't you have left Audra alone, let her be really happy
for once in her life?"

"I would have done any thing for her.  She was a  fever in my blood.  I told
her that, tried to make her see I was the right man for her."

"She would never have left Boone."

"But I had to have her."

"So you killed her because you couldn't have her?"

"I only meant to kill him.  I figured if something happened to Calder on,
she'd turn to me for comfort."

Audra wouldn't have gone back to Kevin.  The diary had made that clear.

"So you planned it."  Suddenly seeing an escape on the other side of the
house--a trio of air boats lined up along the dock, she started fidgeting,
pacing, subtly moving closer to her goal.

"What went wrong?"

"I came up behind Calder on while he was sleeping in a lounge chair.  I held
a gun to his head in a way that would look like suicide... and then I pulled
the trigger."

Kevin's absorption in his tale gave her the freedom to move more directly in
line with the air boats.

One quick dash.  "I didn't know anyone was there until I heard her scream.  I
didn't even mean to kill her.  I just reacted.  Raised the gun and shot.  She
was at the edge on the other side of the pool and fell right in.  Then I
dumped Calder on's body and dropped the gun in the water.  Cleanup was easy
with so much water around."

"You got lucky," she said sarcastically, starting to focus for her run to
freedom.

"How do you sleep at night?"

"As best I can.  It's getting easier."

"Will killing me be easier, too?"

 "I'll survive it," he muttered.

Sensing some doubt in him, she jumped on it.

"But face-to-face, Kev?  Too bad old Bubba didn't finish the job for you."

"Bubba doesn't know that I exist.  I gave you a fifteen-minute head start to
the Osprey Nest, where I 'borrowed' what should have been a death-mobile."

"Did you borrow the alligator, too?"

"I hired a couple of guys who wrestle alligators as a hobby to play a joke on
a friend.  I took care of the lock myself."

Muscles taut, ready to sprint for freedom, she was waiting for her opening.

"Just imagine your surprise when I showed up this morning."

"Part of me was relieved.  I thought it was a sign, hoped maybe you'd leave
it alone now.  But then you found the videotape."

"I thought you got it from Jimmy Bob until I took a look for myself."

"He was getting the equipment back for me as a favor.  I told him if anyone
found it, people would think Miss Audra wasn't a nice woman.  Besotted
bastard didn't want that.  I might not have known you'd found the videotape
at all if you hadn't left it in the machine... now you've left me with no
choice.  Sorry, Pheebs, but your luck just ran out.  Now it's your turn to
die.  For real."

Kevin glanced away from her as he removed the safety on his gun--just the
break Phoebe had been waiting for.  She flew under the house along the
carport, crushed shells crunching beneath her sneakers.

She barely heard Kevin's

"You won't get away  this time, Pheebs" over the pressure of her own racing
pulse filling her ears.

She did, however, hear the sharp discharge of his gun and feel the breath of
the bullet as it whizzed by the side of her face.

the gunshot hurtled Simon forward to the opening in the Glades, but he wasn't
prepared for the sight of Phoebe jumping into an airboat, an armed Salt is on
her heels.

Damn the near-blind old man who'd had no business driving at night and had
caused a minor traffic altercation that had been impossible to get around.

Realizing where Salt is was headed, Simon had abandoned the truck and had
continued his pursuit on foot, taking a shortcut through the swamp.

The airboat roared to life and pulled away from the dock, more shots
following, even as Simon flew forward, keeping to the shadows as he stalked
Phoebe's partner.

Salt is commandeered the next boat in line--the one with the faulty starter.
He didn't waste much time at it, but even those precious seconds gave Phoebe
a respectable lead.  Her partner shot off a few more rounds, before
abandoning the cranky airboat for the third.

Surely he didn't have many bullets left.  Not that it made him any less
dangerous.  Kevin Salt is had a powerful build--he could kill Phoebe with his
bare hands.

Simon couldn't get to the dock fast enough to keep him from getting away.

The bastard was off like a  bullet, leaving him to kick-start the airboat
with the faulty engine, and pray that he'd be able to run interference for
the woman he loved before it was too late.

phoebe sped across open water toward the maze of narrow channels that cut
through the mangroves, knowing she was already lost.  Once in, she'd never
find her way out, but maybe that was a good thing.

Maybe Kevin wouldn't be able to find his way, either.

Jerking the rudder, she made a too-sharp turn, considering her lack of
expertise.  The craft slid around sideways and sent up a sheet of water over
what looked to be a couple of logs, but she knew the "logs" to be alligators.
The airboat threatened to swamp her, turn her into gator bait.

Refusing to succumb without a fight, she lifted her foot from the accelerator
and finessed the rudder.  The hull righted itself with surprising ease.  She
took the next curves slower, accelerating down long stretches.

She should have lost Kevin.  Instead, she heard his engine more distinctly
even through the padded ear covers.  He had to be getting closer.  Sometimes
it even sounded like two engines.

A narrower channel set between the mangroves lay just ahead.  She took it,
then charged down another that was practically claustrophobic.  She glanced
back briefly--and turned forward just as the airboat plowed into a spiderweb
that spanned the channel bank to bank.

Foot popping off the accelerator, Phoebe shrieked  and fought not only the
silken threads, but several large black-and-white striped spiders, as well.
One crawled down her back where she couldn't reach it.  Another dropped from
her shoulder to the boat floor--Phoebe prayed it wouldn't crawl up her pant
leg.  A third got tangled in her hair.

She could feel it swinging against her neck.

"Ah-hh!"

She leaned over the boat and shook her head until the damn thing dropped off
into the water.  Then she flapped her shirt until the one on her back freed
itself.  Her flesh crawled as she stared ahead where several more mega-webs,
complete with occupants crisscrossed the channel.

Behind her .  the sound of an engine drawing closer.

No choice!

Using a curved arm to shelter her face, she ducked low in her seat and
stomped on the accelerator, trying not to retch as she felt enveloped and
crawled upon.

Once through the labyrinth, she let up on the gas long enough to shake loose
everything that didn't belong to her before taking off again.

But Kevin had zeroed in on her and the distance between them was closing.

A bullet whizzed by.  And another pinged against the metal hull.  Phoebe made
a run for it but couldn't lose him in the network of passages again.

Then she zigged when she should have zagged and found herself in open
water--a prime target!

A glance back revealed not only Kevin on her tail,  but the silhouette of
another airboat farther back.  She didn't need to see the man to know who
followed.

"Simon!"

By some miracle, he'd answered her silent call.

Thinking all she had to do was keep Kevin at bay long enough for Simon to
catch up to them, Phoebe was horrified when she approached a section of saw-
grass prairie that, oddly, rose higher than she sat.  The stuff normally grew
only to three or four feet.  Circling to stay in clear water would take her
back in Kevin's path.

Again left with no real choice, she jammed down on the accelerator.  The
airboat's shallow metal hull lifted fractionally as it darted forward,
cutting a path through the fragile environment.  She'd heard of patches that
grew to a dozen feet--this was somewhere in between.

Whipping across the river of grass, she felt as if she'd entered a different
world.

Isolated.  Dreamlike.

But it wasn't long before she was brought back to reality with a jolt.

Her engine coughed once, and then her craft bucked and stalled out.

Phoebe hit the starter.  No response.  She tried not to panic as her vehicle
floated to a decisive stop.

Her situation was desperate.

She'd just run out of gas.

simon couldn't pinpoint the exact moment the other air boats stopped, but he
gradually realized he  no longer heard their engines.  Had Salt is caught up
to Phoebe?  He'd disappeared from view.

Without warning, Simon was upon the other two craft, both abandoned.  He
swerved to miss them and came to a dead stop a dozen yards distant.

Tearing off his headset and jumping down to the wetland, he took stock of the
situation.  His eyes were better than most at night, and fortunately the moon
was cooperating.

He expected Phoebe had taken off on foot with Salt is right behind.  He could
see the impressions made by their bodies as they tunneled through the saw
grass.  His hearing was as finely tuned as that of any swamper, and they
weren't trying to be quiet.

Silpon followed through wedge-shaped blades so high and thickly rooted
together that a man could lose himself.  Their sharp edges could also be
nasty, and he steeled himself against the occasional sting.

As if in a dream, the landscape suddenly shifted, the grasses shorter,
sparser.  His heart pumped like mad when he recognized the hardwood hammock
rising above the wetlands.  Though the Glades constantly shifted and changed,
he would never forget where the swamp had claimed his father.

A screech set his skin crawling.

"Let go of me!"  Phoebe shouted.

And suddenly he was upon them.

Kevin was dragging a kicking, screaming Phoebe toward the willows limning the
hammock.  Knowing what lay ahead, Simon gathered all his forces.

With a feral grin, he attacked.

 simon's war cry was followed by a jolt that freed Phoebe from Kevin's grasp
and sent her reeling toward what looked like open water.  She tried to stop
herself, but she was breathless and staggering, not in control of her own
body.

Landing with a splash, she looked up to see the two men locked in a deadly
dance, Simon holding Kevin's gun hand out to the side.  The weapon misfired.
Kevin's arm jerked.  The gun went flying and plunked into the water somewhere
to Phoebe's right.

Having gotten her breath back, she tried to rise, but the bottom was mushy.
The mud sucked at her sneakers and got hold of her feet.  Trying to move
forward, she felt as if she were sinking instead.

"Oh, no!"

Couldn 't be.

She told herself not to panic--but when she tried to move one foot, the other
sank to the ankle.  And in trying to pull that foot free, the other leg
became trapped nearly to her calf.  It was no use.  With her every movement,
the swamp seemed more determined to suck her farther down, an inch at a time.

Horrified, Phoebe stared at the struggle on the grasslands through eyes that
filled with tears.  Kevin seemed to be choking the life out of Simon.

They were both going to die and no one would ever know.  Then Simon suddenly
exploded with strength, his forearms knocking into Kevin's, effectively
breaking the death grip of the other man's fingers.

Simon smashed the heel of his hand into Kevin's  face.  Her partner screamed
and something dark and wet spurted over Simon.

Blood from a broken nose?

Hands to his face, he fell back, at least temporarily incapacitated.

"Phoebe?"  Simon called, his voice hoarse.

"Are you all right?"

"Over here.  I'm--ahh--stuck."

"Don't move!"

Hearing the panic in his tone did not reassure her.  "Trust me, I'm trying
not to."

"I'll find something for you to grab."

He was already searching the ground frantically.

And despite the fact that she stayed put, hardly breathed, Phoebe continued
to sink.

Tcr the top of her knees.  The middle of her thighs.  The bottom of her
buttocks.  She closed her eyes and prayed as the muck squiggled up around her
hips.

"Got it!"

"Thank you," she breathed as Simon held out what appeared to be a gnarled
root several feet in length.  She curled her fingers around it.

"Got it,"

she echoed gratefully.

"Hang on and let me do the work.  If you struggle..."

He didn't have to finish.  Struggling would sink her farther.

Simon started to inch back.  Slowly.  Steadily.

The root started to slip through her hands.

Phoebe tightened her grip, then felt the muck budge  as her upper body
stretched out over the water toward Simon.

"It's working!"  she gasped as she felt her lower body lift slightly.

Simon kept on.

He inched backward.  She slid forward.

He pulled.  She hung on, her hands burning with the strain.

Then Simon stopped moving, dug in his heels and started pulling at the root,
one hand over the other.

Her buttocks popped free.  Then her thighs.  Then her knees.  She was
practically lying across the water, half of her freed when her hands came
within reach of his.

He stepped forward and grabbed onto her wrists.  She grabbed onto his in
return, sealing their fates together.

When he started to pull again, her arms felt as if they would separate from
her shoulders, but she clenched her jaw against the pain and felt her calves
slip free.

"I'll anchor and you pull," Simon ordered.

For once she did as she was told without question.

Suddenly the swamp gave up its hold and freed her completely.

Tautness gone, Simon went crashing onto his back in the grass with her atop
him.

"You did it!"  she cried.

Not their night to die, after all.

"This time," he said roughly, wrapping his arms around her back.

"Thank God."

 He had to be thinking of that other time when he'd been unable to save his
father.  Maybe some of that burden of guilt would lift from his shoulders
now.  She hoped so.

Suddenly, she said,

"Kevin!"  and glanced around frantically.

"He's gone!"

"I doubt he'll get far."

Prophetic words.

Even as Simon got to his feet and helped her up, a roar of sound raised the
hair on her head.

"What" -- "Gators.  Probably bulls."

And then frantic inhuman screams and snapping sounds made her blood run cold.
She clutched Simon until the screams stopped.

The snapping continued.

The swamp had provided them with a wild brand of justice that she never could
have imagined.

phoebe wasn't certain she would ever get over Audra's murder and so
determined that group counseling with other people who'd lost family members
to violence was in order.  At least now she could focus on something other
than finding the real killer.

The videotape and the diary she'd found in the shoe box--an account of
Audra's affair with Kevin, which had ended when she'd begun to fear
him--together with her and Simon's firsthand account were more than enough
for the authorities and the media to change their tune.

Simon hadn't said a word about the diary when she  produced it.  But the
look of disappointment he gave her was enough to break her heart.

Then he disappeared back into his swamp.

Phoebe waited two days--long enough for him sleep off the exhaustion and
stress--and when he didn't show his face, she decided whatever was going to
happen in this relationship was up to her.

Relationship.  What should have been a scary concept now intrigued her.
She'd gone through so much over the past week that she couldn't imagine her
world ever being the same.  Couldn't imagine being alone again, content with
short-lived, comfortable affairs.

She wanted to share and fight and most of all love, and she only wanted to do
that with one man, Simon, who had risked everything for her.

And so she was waiting for him on the screened porch and getting to know
Minerva and Serena when he brought in an airboat after a morning of taking
tourists fishing.

He couldn't miss her convertible parked on the pad.  That he knew she was
there was obvious from the set of his shoulders, though he avoided loo king
for her.

She gave each of the parrots treats and scratched their necks as she'd seen
Simon do.

"So what do you think, girls?"  she asked them.  "Could you stand some extra
attention on a regular basis?"

"Awwwk, Simon says no.  Simon says no."

"We'll see about that," she muttered, when in her heart it was her greatest
fear.

"See about what?"

 He'd sneaked up on her.  She turned around to face him.  Leaning against
the doorjamb, he was dressed in an old T-shirt and ripped jeans, his face
sported at least a ten-o'clock shadow, and his eyes.  oh, they were issuing
an invitation that no part of her could resist.  Tension suddenly radiated
from her every pore.

"We'll see whether you're ready to take me to bed and keep me there until I'm
unable to walk away."

He didn't move but asked again,

"Why, Phoebe?"

She took a deep breath.  This was the moment.  The scariest one in her life.

But she knew how she felt about him now and had sworn she would tell him.

"Because I love you, Simon Calder on, and I want it all.  The sharing.  The
fighting.  The sex."  Pointedly, she said, ^Especially the sex.  "

"Simon says no!  Awwwk!"

"Shut up, you silly bird," Simon muttered as he finally made his move.  He
slipped his hands around Phoebe's waist and pulled her to him tightly.

"Simon says yes.  A very definite yes."

  Zoe put it to his reaction to the case, which had, in fact, intrigued her
more than she would admit.  She'd been hard-pressed not to fantasize exactly
as Phoebe had done.  That Alex's image had come to mind with each passage
meant only that she needed to get a social life.

At the moment, Alex Gotham was the only single man she was seeing in any
capacity.

Zoe dug into her dessert, a sensual raspberry brii- lee, and kept their
conversation on track.

"So, do you have enough information for the chapter on lust?"

"I may have to do some personal research."

Was he really toying with her or was she reading meanings where he meant none?

Shifting to find a comfort zone, Zoe chose to believe the second option.

Epilogue "So did they or didn't they?"  Alex asked, when Zoe had finished
relating Phoebe and Simon's story.

Knowing full well what he meant, Zoe focused on her folder when she murmured,

"What?"

She busied herself with the Lust file, straightening articles and reports and
copies of diary pages that were already in perfect order.

"Did they satisfy their lust for each other?"

"I certainly hope so."  She carefully set the folder in her briefcase.  ' "My
records indicate that they married."

"Then I certainly hope they're still trying."

Hearing the amusement in Alex's tone, Zoe gave him a swift look, but his
expression was perfectly innocent.

"Shall we partake?"  he asked.

"Excuse me?"

' "The dessert.  It appears quite... tempting."

But Alex wasn't loo king at the dessert.  He was staring at her.  Or perhaps
she should say he was staring at her as if she were the dessert.

 Zoe put it to his reaction to the case, which had, in fact, intrigued her
more than she would admit.  She'd been hard-pressed not to fantasize exactly
as Phoebe had done.  That Alex's image had come to mind with each passage
meant only that she needed to get a social life.

At the moment, Alex Gotham was the only single man she was seeing in any
capacity.

Zoe dug into her dessert, a sensual raspberry brii- lee, and kept their
conversation on track.

"So, do you have enough information for the chapter on lust?"

"I may have to do some personal research."

Was he really toying with her or was she reading meanings where he meant none?

Shifting to find a comfort zone, Zoe chose to believe the second option.