Risky Business: the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down

Patient, Moralas touched her arm to bring her attention back to him. “He let you go?”

“No, he was going to kill me.” She said it dully, without fear, without passion. “I knew he would whether I told him anything or not, and my daughter—she needs me. I slumped as if I’d fainted, then I hit him. I think I hit him in the throat with my elbow. And I ran.”

“Can you identify the man?”

“I never saw him. I never looked.”

“His voice.”

“He spoke Spanish. I think he was short because his voice was right in my ear. I don’t know anything else. I don’t know anything about money or Jerry or anything else.” She looked back into her glass, abruptly terrified she would cry. “I want to go home.”

“As soon as my men make certain it’s safe. You’ll have police protection, Miss Palmer. Rest here. I’ll come back for you and take you home.”

She didn’t know if it had been minutes or hours since she’d fled through the front door. When Moralas took her back, it was dark with the moon just rising. An officer would remain outside in her driveway and all her doors and windows had been checked. Without a word, she went through the house into the kitchen.

“She was lucky.” Moralas gave the living room another quick check. “Whoever attacked her was careless enough to be caught off guard.”

“Did the neighbors see anything?” Jonas righted a table that had been overturned in flight. There was a conch shell on the floor that had cracked.

“A few people noticed a blue compact outside the house late this afternoon. Señora Alderez saw it drive off when she opened the door to Miss Palmer, but she couldn’t identify the make or the plates. We will, of course, keep Miss Palmer under surveillance while we try to track it down.”

“It doesn’t appear my brother’s killer’s left the island.”

Moralas met Jonas’s gaze blandly. “Apparently whatever deal your brother was working on cost him his life. I don’t intend for it to cost Miss Palmer hers. I’ll drive you back to town.”

“No. I’m staying.” Jonas examined the pale pink shell with the crack spreading down its length. He thought of the mark on Liz’s throat. “My brother involved her.” Carefully, he set the damaged shell down. “I can’t leave her alone.”

“As you wish.” Moralas turned to go when Jonas stopped him.

“Captain, you don’t still think the murderer’s hundreds of miles away.”

Moralas touched the gun that hung at his side. “No, Mr. Sharpe, I don’t. Buenas noches.”

Jonas locked her door himself, then rechecked the windows before he went back to the kitchen. Liz was pouring her second cup of coffee. “That’ll keep you up.”

Liz drank half a cup, staring at him. She felt nothing at the moment, no anger, no fear. “I thought you’d gone.”

“No.” Without invitation, he found a mug and poured coffee for himself.

“Why are you here?”

He took a step closer, to run a fingertip gently down the mark on her throat. “Stupid question,” he murmured.

She backed up, fighting to maintain the calm she’d clung to. If she lost control, it wouldn’t be in front of him, in front of anyone. “I want to be alone.”

He saw her hands tremble before she locked them tighter on the cup. “You can’t always have what you want. I’ll bunk in your daughter’s room.”

“No!” After slamming the cup down, she folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t want you here.”

With studied calm, he set his mug next to hers. When he took her shoulders, his hands were firm, not gentle. When he spoke, his voice was brisk, not soothing. “I’m not leaving you alone. Not now, not until they find Jerry’s killer. You’re involved whether you like it or not. And so, damn it, am I.”

Her breath came quickly, too quickly, though she fought to steady it. “I wasn’t involved until you came back and started hounding me.”

He’d already wrestled with his conscience over that. Neither one of them could know if it were true. At the moment, he told himself it didn’t matter. “However you’re involved, you are. Whoever killed Jerry thinks you know something. You’ll have an easier time convincing me you don’t than you will them. It’s time you started thinking about cooperating with me.”

“How do I know you didn’t send him here to frighten me?”

His eyes stayed on hers, cool and unwavering. “You don’t. I could tell you that I don’t hire men to kill women, but you wouldn’t have to believe it. I could tell you I’m sorry.” For the first time, his tone gentled. He lifted a hand to brush the hair back from her face and his thumb slid lightly over her cheekbone. Like the conch shell, she seemed delicate, lovely and damaged. “And that I wish I could walk away, leave you alone, let both of us go back to the way things were a few weeks ago. But I can’t. We can’t. So we might as well help each other.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“I know. Sit down. I’ll fix you something to eat.”

She tried to back away. “You can’t stay here.”

“I am staying here. Tomorrow, I’m moving my things from the hotel.”

“I said—”

“I’ll rent the room,” he interrupted, turning away to rummage through the cupboards. “Your throat’s probably raw. This chicken soup should be the best thing.”

She snatched the can from his hand. “I can fix my own dinner, and you’re not renting a room.”

“I appreciate your generosity.” He took the can back from her. “But I’d rather keep it on a business level. Twenty dollars a week seems fair. You’d better take it, Liz,” he added before she could speak. “Because I’m staying, one way or the other. Sit down,” he said again and looked for a pot.

She wanted to be angry. It would help keep everything else bottled up. She wanted to shout at him, to throw him bodily out of her house. Instead she sat because her knees were too weak to hold her any longer.

What had happened to her control? For ten years she’d been running her own life, making every decision by herself, for herself. For ten years, she hadn’t asked advice, she hadn’t asked for help. Now something had taken control and decisions out of her hands, something she knew nothing about. Her life was part of a game, and she didn’t know any of the rules.

She looked down and saw the tear drop on the back of her hand. Quickly, she reached up and brushed others from her cheeks. But she couldn’t stop them. One more decision had been taken from her.

“Can you eat some toast?” Jonas asked her as he dumped the contents of the soup in a pan. When she didn’t answer, he turned to see her sitting stiff and pale at the table, tears running unheeded down her face. He swore and turned away again. There was nothing he could do for her, he told himself. Nothing he could offer. Then, saying nothing, he came to the table, pulled a chair up beside her and waited.

“I thought he’d kill me.” Her voice broke as she pressed a hand to her face. “I felt the knife against my throat and thought I was going to die. I’m so scared. Oh God, I’m so scared.”