1 Margarita Nights (21 page)

Clay pulled up in front of number nine at the Palmetto Motel. Country music, overlaid with laughter and curses, boomed into the night. A party was in full blast at the end unit, with people spilling out into the parking lot. It was arctic cold but that didn’t seem to be bothering them as they drank from longneck bottles and cans that flashed silver in the light from the open door.

“Wait here and lock the doors,” Clay ordered, his eyes fixed on the rowdy gang as his hand reached for the door.

“Staying with the car is more dangerous than going. It’s the Lexus that will attract them.” I jumped out and ran to Andy’s door before he could stop me.

“Andy,” I yelled and pounded on the door with my fist. Two big guys broke from the pack outside the party door and slowly drifted towards me. “Andy, open up. It’s Sherri. We have to talk.” My eyes never left my audience.

Now five guys were moving my way. I heard Clay’s car door open behind me and I was gone back to the car. My door slammed shut just as the first guy leaned on the right fender. He stared through the windshield, growling obscenities.

The Lexus shot backwards. A can bounced off the windshield, spraying foam across the glass. The Lexus squealed forward and out onto the street. “Clay, your car!” I wailed.

He turned on the wipers to clear the mess and grinned at me. “You know all the hot spots, don’t you?”

“Yup. And I get invited to all the best parties. And that was a good one.”

When we reached Tamiami he stopped for a red light. “Wanna go home?” he asked. “I’m too wired to sleep.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Let’s cruise out to South Beach and Indian Mound. At this time of the night, everyone will be home. Maybe we’ll find the SUV. An SUV says upscale neighborhood to me.” “Well, at least better than the one we just left.”

“I’m thinking there’s not great resale potential in that neighborhood,” I said.

“See,” Clay replied, “already you’re thinking like a realtor.” He headed south for the bridge to Cypress Island. “Marley thinks Jimmy is still alive.” He turned to look at me. “Do you?” “Yes.”

“She also thinks he was the one who broke into your apartment.”

“I don’t know about that. It would be crazy to hang about here. I think he’s far away.” “Maybe he needs the video before he goes.” I didn’t want to think about Jimmy. I was enjoying the heat and trying to decide if it was time to take a risk, time to let someone inside my defenses.

“Sherri, if Jimmy shows up and asks you to go with him, will you go?”

“God, no! Never!” I sat up. “Are you out of your mind?” He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “I’m beginning to think so.”

We drove slowly through the quiet dark streets of South Beach. “I’d forgotten that you can’t see most houses from the street. And nobody lets their cars sit outside overnight.” “Still, it’s a nice night for a drive,” replied Clay. I didn’t remind him it was cold as a walk-in freezer. As we drove along Beach Road listening to the music, I told Clay about Tony Rollins.

“Andy is an easy target. With Andy wrapped up nice and tight no one would look too close at what Tony is doing out at Windimere. I probably only scratched the surface of what Tony’s up to.”

“What if Tony Rollins doctored Jimmy’s boat?” He turned to look at me. “And you were out on that stairs alone with him.”

“It did occur to me.”

“I think . . . ,” he said and stopped. I waited. “I think you should go away for a while. Let this blow over.”

“Great idea, but I’m the chief suspect. Styles would just haul my ass back here.”

“Then you’ve got to be more careful. Go someplace secure.”

“Yeah, like the Shoreline?”

“God no. Don’t go to your mother’s. Hell, you could get knocked off by one of the neighbors.”

“The Shoreline isn’t that bad. It’s true the inhabitants are keen on taking the occasional shot at one another, but there’s only been one actual murder. I’m not sure whether they’re just bad shots or always too drunk to be accurate.”

“Stay with Marley.”

“What if you’re right? I don’t want to put anyone in danger. What if I stayed with Marley and someone came looking for me there? See what I mean? I think I should stay as far away as I can from everyone else to avoid . . . what’s it called, collateral damage.” “Nice image.”

“Well, my life’s beginning to feel like a war zone.”

“I’ve got an idea.” It took him a while to get to it. “I live in a really secure building. Stay with me for a while.” “Hey, are you making a pass at me?”

“No. No. I just want you to be safe. I’m going up to Cedar Key to look at a piece of property tomorrow so you’ll have it all to yourself.”

I tried to decide if there was some hidden meaning. Any other guy I’d know what was happening, but not with Clay. I could never read this guy. “Safe is an interesting concept.” Falling into bed with him probably would defeat the purpose of staying safe. “Now that Jimmy’s video is gone, there’s nothing else anyone could want from me.” “Don’t bet on it,” Clay said.

Clay took me back to the Sunset to pick up the truck and then followed me out to the Tropicana, parking and getting out of the Lexus before me, watching the deep shadows as I got out of Big Red. He was well and truly spooked.

“I’m going in with you,” he told me. No arguments allowed. Clay had never been to my apartment so at the top of the steps, I pointed to the right, and started to say, “Down here,” but Clay had already turned. I froze. Sure, he knew that I lived at the Tropicana but that was all he knew. Now he just walked right up to the end unit. Fear crept up my spine. How did he know which apartment was mine? Something was happening here I didn’t understand.

Clay waited outside my door. “Are you coming?” “It’s okay,” I assured him. “I’m fine now. You don’t need to come in.”

“I want to check inside. You don’t want any more nasty surprises.”

Yeah, like the nasty surprise I’d just had. Something was wrong here. Something was going to jump out and bite me, I knew that.

Slowly, looking for the hidden pain, I went to join him.

He took the keys out of my hand and opened the door. How could I doubt Clay? He wasn’t like other guys. He probably came by earlier to check out where I lived. And having him here suited me just fine.

He held the door wide and waited for me to go in. Then he followed me inside and locked the door behind us. “I’m going to have a look around.”

I smiled. “That will take you about a second and a half.” He took his time, looking in the closets and even under the bed while I lounged against the door frame watching him. “If I’d known you were coming I’d have made the bed.”

He grinned, “You and a rumpled bed are the things fantasies are made of.”

The sparkle in his eyes lit a fire in the pit of me. “Tell me more about these fantasies.”

He laughed and came towards me. His jaw had a slight darkening of late-night beard along it, making him look rough and dangerous. Rough and dangerous was just the way I wanted it. I flamed into one huge erogenous zone, itching for his touch. I reached out for him. “Jesus,” Clay said.

Who knew? Damn, but Mr. Cool turned out to be Mr. Hot as Hell and I couldn’t get enough of him.

It had been a long time for me and maybe for Clay, too. There were no words, no promise of forever, not even of tomorrow, no tenderness; just a driving need for fulfillment. Only bruising kisses and frantic hands on two sweaty bodies: demanding access and climax and turning the unmade bed into a battleground of desire.

Later came soft murmurs of pleasure and gentleness, guarded endearments, later when our pulses had evened out. But just as quickly as peace was declared, war broke out again.

I lay on top of the rumpled sheets letting the air dry my hot body. Outside, a tropical storm was unleashed. Rain poured down. The drought was over.

I watched Clay stretched out beside me in lightening shadows of dawn. I thought he was sleeping until he reached out and gently circled the tattoo on my right hip. “I hate that thing,” I told him.

“You could have it removed.”

“Why bother.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you’ll want a new name there.” I raised myself up on my forearms and looked down at him. “Trust me, if I ever have anything else tattooed there, it’s going to say, ‘Mine.’”

His hand grew still. I lay back down.

“Come to Cedar Key with me.” His hand started caressing me again. “Have a little holiday and let the dust settle.” He’d been born in Florida just like me but there’s no sound of Dixie in his voice. Deep and rich, like melted chocolate, his voice sounds smart and important, like a newsman on CNN. I love the sound of his voice even when it’s saying things I don’t want to hear.

“Do you really have to go to Cedar Key?” I sound real down home no matter how hard I try.

“Yeah. There are other people involved. It’s important.” I wanted to ask, “And what’s happening in this bed isn’t?” Instead I said, “I’ll stay in Jacaranda. There are things I need to do.”

“Why don’t you go over to my apartment?” He held up a hand to stop me. “Just for a few days. I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe.”

I turned it around and around, trying to see it from all angles. Lying naked beside him was one thing; this was another. “I’m safe here,” I told him.

He rolled away, got to his feet and started dressing.

After he left I slept, but not for long. By nine I was up, restlessly pacing the apartment. Without Clay there, I started to doubt him, started to wonder. His slip of the night before took on a whole new meaning without his body to distract me. I was becoming desperate and obsessed with knowing what was going on. I needed to do something.

Evan showed up while I was under the truck, checking along the frame for a hidden video cassette. He kicked my foot sticking out from under the bumper. “Doing your own engine work now, Butch?”

I slithered out and smiled up at him. “Welcome home, Romeo. Where have you been?”

“We took the boat and sailed down towards the keys. Noble went home late last night and I slept over on the boat to do some repairs.”

“Cordelia was here yesterday. She thought I might have gone away with Noble.”

“The truth would be worse.” He offered me a hand and pulled me to my feet. “So how’ve you been?”

“It hasn’t been boring.” I bent over to pick up the piece of cardboard I’d been lying on. “I’ve been thinking that Jimmy likely had a copy of that tape out on the boat. Andy has one and I had one. Maybe there are more copies. I need that tape.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. Worry lines took away some of the freshness from his face, making him look less boyish. “Were there any pictures of Noble and me on that video?”

“Not that I saw.”

He sighed. He looked tired and depressed. Either the cruise hadn’t gone as he planned or he was really sorry it was over. Or he was very worried about something else. Whichever it was, I didn’t want to know. Other people’s love lives are just too stupid to bear and I had enough problems of my own.

Besides, there was something else on my mind. “Why did you really go out to Windimere?”

He looked embarrassed. He couldn’t keep eye contact. “It was stupid,” he said. He scuffed his toe in the crushed shells. “It was just a fit of anger.”

If Evan, a very proper sort of person, could go out there and risk embarrassing himself, what else could he do?