Still Waters - Heather Graham MIRA

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emerged at the other end of the beach. Retracing her steps, she swore softly.

      A large mosquito decided to take a good chunk out of her arm, and she slapped it furiously, taking inordinate pleasure out of the fact that she managed to kill it.

      At last she wound her way back to the clearing where she had stood the day before with the girls.

      She looked around, trying to assess the area. Fallen palm fronds seemed to be everywhere.

      Had there been that many yesterday? She tried to remember exactly where they had been standing.

      And then where Keith Henson had emerged from the trees.

      In the end, because there were so many palm fronds down on the ground, she decided to examine them one by one.

      She tried to make sure she didn’t miss an area. She had gotten to her fourth frond when she heard footsteps.

      Someone else was heading for the clearing.

      She forced herself to pause and listen. After determining the direction from which the sounds were coming, she headed across the clearing. As soon as she reached the shelter of the trees, she spun around, afraid that whoever it was had already burst into the clearing and seen her.

      Through the trees, she could see something glinting.

      She narrowed her eyes and swallowed hard. Whoever was coming was carrying a knife. A big knife.

      A machete.

      Staring intently at that deadly glint, she backed farther into the trees.

      Suddenly she felt an arm reach around her middle, pulling her deeper into the foliage.

      A scream rose to her throat.

      But a second hand clamped tightly over her mouth, and no sound escaped.

       4

      Stretched out on the sand, Amber watched her aunt disappear into the foliage, then rolled again to face Kimberly with a sigh.

      “We’ve got to do something!”

      “About what?”

      “Beth, of course.”

      “You’re calling her ‘Beth’ now?” Kimberly queried with a brow arched high in a semblance of mature disapproval.

      “No...it’s just, we’ve got to do something.”

      “She’s so cute,” Kim agreed.

      “And so is he,” Amber said.

      “Which one?” Kim asked, frowning.

      “The cute one.”

      “Even your dad is cute,” Kim said.

      Amber laughed, shuddering. “Ugh. Dads are not cute.”

      Kim shrugged. “I’m sure he is to lots of people.”

      “I know, but...ugh. No, I’m talking about him. And I know you know which one I’m talking about.”

      “Keith Henson,” Kim agreed sagely.

      “We need to get the two of them fixed up.”

      “Amber, they’re both here. If they want to get fixed up, they’ll do it.” Kim giggled. “I mean, they’re older than we are. They’ve got to have some smarts.”

      “Do you think he has a wife somewhere? Or a girlfriend?” Amber asked worriedly.

      “I don’t think so.”

      “He better have, like, a real job. I don’t want my aunt working her whole life to support some beach bum.”

      “Amber, we’re not getting them married off or anything.”

      “But we should get them together,” Amber protested. “Seriously, she’s so pretty, but she never goes out. She needs a date.”

      Kim blushed. “You mean she’s not getting any?” she asked with a giggle.

      “Kim!” Amber nudged her hard.

      “Well?”

      “We need to set her up. But first we have to check him out.”

      “How are we supposed to do that?”

      “I’m not sure yet. We’ll have to see when we get home. Dad has lots of cop friends. We can talk to one of them.”

      “Amber, we may never see these guys again once we go home.”

      Amber sat up, grinning, and did an amazing Alfred Hitchcock impersonation. “Have you ever had a premonition?”

      Kim laughed. “All right. We’ll do a real investigation when we get home. Meanwhile, I’ll find out a few things about him.”

      “And how will you do that?” Amber demanded.

      Kim smiled smugly. “Silly. I’ll just ask him.”

      * * *

      The yacht was state of the art. Ben loved it the minute he stepped aboard.

      “Wow,” he said simply to Lee.

      He worked hard and earned decent money as an attorney, and he’d been proud of his own boat, but in comparison, Time Off was small.

      And simple.

      What the hell does this guy do for a living? he wondered, though he was too polite to ask. None of the guys seemed like dope dealers, and he’d learned that in Miami, lots of people were simply independently wealthy.

      Hank Mason wasn’t quite so hesitant.

      “How the hell do you afford a puppy like this?” he demanded.

      “Family money, I’m afraid.” Lee’s pride was justified when he grinned and said, “She’s something, huh? She’s a Hatteras, top of the line, and she’s been customized, since most of these ladies aren’t set up for real fishing.”

      Customized to a T, Ben thought. Topside, there was the kind of rigging that made deep-water sport fishing fun. The flybridge offered every convenience from a global explorer to sonar and radar equipment, along with a stereo system and the more mundane racks for drinks and snacks. The upper deck offered complete comfort, and the decking was exquisite, with teak trimming. There was even a small refrigerator. The stern afforded racks for at least twelve diving tanks, and a lift-top seat bore a small sign that read Diving Equipment.

      “Come into the cabin. You’ll like her even more,” Lee told Ben.

      “I like her already,” Amanda said. She smiled up at Ben and linked an arm through his. “Now this, I must say, is a boat.”

      Ben had known Amanda for several years, though never well. She was definitely beautiful, capable of stirring his senses, but also making him uncomfortable. He’d learned a long time ago that when someone you loved died, you lost a part of yourself, but you were still among the living. And being alive, he definitely had sexual urges. Amanda gave a man the impression that she could fulfill those urges beyond his wildest dreams. It would be a lie to say she didn’t have an effect on him. The problem was, she gave the same impression to every man. He would never trust a woman like her if he so much as blinked. For some guys, it would be okay. They were players. It was curious, though, that she seemed to be hanging on to him. He knew he was decent looking, fit and made a good living.

      But the island, as Amanda had said herself, was chock-full of testosterone. Lee, Matt and Keith were the kind of men women always seemed to go for—well-muscled, tall, with the slightly rough good looks and hard-adventure attitude that seemed to draw women like moths.

      So why the hell was Amanda clinging to him?

      He wasn’t a player. His life focused—maybe too much, as Beth was always warning

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