Shadowed Paradise (13 page)

The obligatory daily thundershower had passed
through almost precisely on time, drenching the area for less than
an hour in late afternoon before rushing on into the Gulf, leaving
sunny skies to dry the picnic tables, benches, and fresh-washed
sands for the thousands of fireworks-lovers. Lingering streaks of
deep rose and lavender gray were all that were left of the sun’s
nightly spectacular.

Anticipation rose as crowds streamed in
around them, loaded down with beach chairs and mini-coolers. Behind
the children playing at the edge of the water, boats were pulling
up, dropping anchor, their running lights glowing against the
rapidly darkening sky.

Up and down the beach, and in the picnic
areas on the dunes above, sparklers flared into life, spitting and
hissing their fairy-like magic. Confirming it really was the Fourth
of July. The police good-naturedly looked the other way while
bottle rockets and roman candles shot out of the crowd. Even the
occasional pop-pop-pop of ladyfinger firecrackers, penetrating the
excited chatter, could not budge the officers’ nonchalant stance as
they kept a benign eye on the crowd.

Jamie, dripping wet, ran up to Brad.
“Can we do it now?
Please?
”
His amber eyes, so like his father’s, sparkled almost as brightly
as the amateur fireworks around them.

Do what?
Claire’s euphoria slipped. What was Brad digging out of his
duffel bag? He wouldn’t . . . Surely not. “He’s only eight!” Claire
cried as Brad, on his feet now, put a sparkler in Jamie’s
hand.”

“
Mo-om!
”

Brad paused, a box of wooden matches in his
hand, and stared. “You’re kidding, right?”

“
He’ll get hurt!”

“
No, I won’t!”

“
Hang on a minute, Jamie.” Brad knelt
down beside her, keeping his voice low. “I won’t let him get hurt,
I promise. I told him the rules earlier, while you were swimming.
If it really bothers you, of course we won’t do it, but they’re
just little sparklers, Claire. Teeny ones, and I promise to dig the
hot sticks into the sand myself.”

Claire hung her head, torn between chagrin
and laughter. Men and their little boy toys.

Jamie needed a man in his life, and
Brad was willing. What more could she ask?
Except, please God, no sudden run to the ER.

“
Jamie, promise you’ll do exactly what
Brad tells you.”
Stupid!
She
sounded as if they were about to rocket off to the space
station.

Claire winced at Jamie’s every gasp and yip
as a sparkle struck him, but, miracle of miracles, every red,
green, and silver spark dwindled into darkness without
disaster.

“
Wow!” Jamie breathed. “That was
great.”

“
What do you say?” Claire
prompted.

“
Thanks, Brad!” Jamie flashed an
ear-to-ear grin. “Hey, Brad,” he added, “that man up there is
waving at you.”

Claire groaned. Whoever the stranger was, the
woman with him on the deck of the Chowder Pot restaurant thirty
feet away was Phil Tierney.

Brad muttered something under his breath that
widened Jamie’s eyes before turning to Claire. “My Uncle Garrett,”
he told her, while waving politely, his lips fixed in a smile. “In
the limelight, as always, but his date’s a real surprise.”

“
Do you mind?”

He took a moment to consider. “No-o, but it’s
going to take a bit of adjustment. Garrett’s not so old—fifty,
fifty-one, I guess—but to me he’s another generation. I’d dismiss
this as a business dinner if I saw them any place else, but for a
politician like Garrett to bring Phil to the Fourth of July
celebration is tantamount to making a declaration. He’s staking a
claim.”

“
Don’t you think Phil has something say
about it?” Claire challenged.

“
She’d be crazy to turn up her nose at
Garrett. He’s the most eligible man in the county. Several
counties.”

But what if Phil still wanted Brad Blue?

“
That’s the test rocket!” Jamie cried
as a loud explosion ripped the air. “Isn’t it, Brad, isn’t it?” He
tugged Claire’s hand. “Brad said it’s sort of like a trumpeter
announcing a tournament.”

Brad said
. If
he broke Jamie’s heart, she was going to kill him!

Funny. Very
funny
. As if Jamie’s was the only vulnerable
heart.

After the initial explosion, there was a long
interval of silence. “They’re really gonna start, aren’t they,
Brad?” Jamie asked.

“
That’s right. Just settle back on the
blanket and keep your eyes open.” Brad grinned at Claire, the
depths of his blue eyes, only inches from her own, so full of
warmth and contentment, so full of genuine pleasure that Claire
caught her breath. Her toes curled.

Maybe fireworks outranked sex. Because, with
sex, sometimes there was only lust. With fireworks came family,
friendship . . . and, if one were very lucky, love.

Yet both were ephemeral. Exploding in climax
. . . and gone on the wind. Falling into a void.

Until next year.

Or maybe never.

Golden streaks of light burst in a dazzling
umbrella over their heads. Jamie shouted with joy. Brad’s arm
closed around Claire’s shoulders. Squeezed. If she lived to a
hundred and ten, she’d cherish this moment.

There were so many reasons this shouldn’t be
happening. Brad’s past. Hers.

She was going to have to tell him. But not
now. Not tonight.

Claire lifted her chin and smiled as a great
burst of red lit the night, falling, falling, exploding, the
reverberations shaking her right down to her soul.

He never missed the fireworks. He wasn’t sure
why. Perhaps because they’d been part of his childhood. The time
when he still thought he was normal. That was the hardest part.
Being crazy, and knowing that you were. They said if you knew you
were crazy, you really weren’t. What a crock. He’d known for years
and years. So did Mom.

A shrink might be stupid enough to say he was
only abnormal. Just because he could smile and do his job and fool
all those shitty normal people scurrying around out there. Ants . .
. they were all ants. Only not so smart. He could sit right here in
the midst of half the town and no one knew. Not a soul.

He’d been scared that first time. Terrified.
He’d never meant to kill Kim Willis. They were coming to get him,
he knew it. For months his heart turned over every time he passed a
cop on the street. Each time someone came to the door, he could
feel himself shrivel inside. They were going to shut him away in a
tiny space. Put him on display before the world. Make him dead.

They were coming for him. They surely
were.

But the days, months, went by. And no one
came. No one asked him what happened to Kim Willis. Or Mom.

Fools. Fools. Fools. They never guessed. He
hadn’t realized they were so stupid. God, he’d have to carry a sign
saying, “I Killed Kim Willis” before they got it.

Which had made it easy to kill Mom. He wasn’t
afraid any more. He was so much smarter than the county cops that
it was ludicrous. He could do anything he damn well pleased.

So the stupid dog brought home a skull. The
skull of someone old enough to have mostly silver fillings, that’s
all the newspaper said. They’d never find out it was Mom. She was
“up north.” She was never reported missing. And there were how many
dentists in Calusa County? No way could they make a connection.

Too bad the grave had been flooded out. It
was a nice spot. Pretty and peaceful. Mom wouldn’t like being shut
in one of those metal drawers at the morgue. Or did they just use a
cardboard box for bones?

He knew now that he was invincible. The
idiots thought Betty Siffert was an accident. He wouldn’t have to
wait and worry any more. With just a bit of careful planning . .
.

He’d bought the latex gloves, carried a tarp
and a spade in the trunk of his car. Time to go hunting.

Maybe this weekend . . .

Claire pulled the covers up under Jamie’s
chin, bent down and kissed his cheek. He heaved a great sigh.
“Wasn’t it great, mom?” he burbled for perhaps the fifteenth time.
“Do we really have to wait a whole year for the next time?”

“’
Fraid so,” Claire said, ruffling his
shock of blond hair.

“
Mom?”

“
Umm?” Claire mumbled as she
straightened up.

“
Are you gonna keep him?”

“
Keep him?” The words choked out past a
sudden lump in her throat.

“
You
know,”
Jamie said in his most long-suffering tone. “Brad. Are you going to
keep him?”

Claire sucked in her breath. How to tell a
small hopeful child that things didn’t always work out the way they
might like?

No need. Jamie already knew that. “Do you . .
. I guess you’d like me to, right?”

“
O’course. He’s my friend.” Jamie had
no doubts at all.

Nice to be Jamie.

“
He–uh–might not want to be kept,”
Claire temporized.

“
Sure he does. He likes us.”

If only she could share Jamie’s confidence.
“Remember when grampa taught you to fish?” she said slowly. “You
have to reel a fish in before you can find out if he’s a keeper.
And sometimes that fish just doesn’t want to be caught and gets
clean away. So give it a little time, okay? It’s too soon to be
talking ‘for keeps.’”

Jamie studied her face with solemn intensity
before snuggling contentedly into his pillow. “Okay,” he agreed,
“but don’t give him much slack. Grampa says that’s how fish get
away.”

Claire ducked her head to hide a grin. Then
again, Jamie giving her instruction in the fine art of
husband-hunting wasn’t so amusing after all. With uncanny accuracy
Jamie had pinpointed her weakness. She’d not only been dragging her
feet, her hunting boots were frozen to the starter line. After what
she’d been through, what Jamie had been through . . . no way, no
how could she open herself up to that kind of pain again.

But, dear God, Brad Blue was temptation
incarnate.

Taking advantage of Jamie’s holiday euphoria,
Claire sneaked in a good night kiss. “I promise I won’t throw him
back unless he turns out to be a nasty old shark. How’s that?”

“
Not Brad,” Jamie asserted stoutly.
“He’s a good guy.”

She hoped so. Claire went out, softly closing
the door behind her.

Jamie had such hopes. So did she, though both
the hard-headed Claire and the hurt Claire, had trouble admitting
it. And now, whatever tentative relationship she and Brad had, she
was about to blow it to hell and gone.

“
When are you going to tell him?” Ginny
had demanded that afternoon as Claire was packing the picnic
basket.

She’d resisted a retort of “Never,” toyed
with the cowardice of “Soon,” and finally settled on a grumpy “I
don’t know.”

“
It’s time you displayed some of the
good sense God gave you,” Ginny scolded. “If that man’s worth
having, he won’t care. And if he isn’t, good riddance. Don’t drag
it out until Jamie’s heart’s as broken as yours could be. Not to
mention Brad’s. He has feelings too, you know. I like that man,
Claire. Give him a chance to show what he’s worth.”

If only it were that simple, Claire thought
as her feet dragged down the hallway. No matter how strong the
physical attraction, she had grave reservations about a
relationship with Brad Blue. Could she bring herself to live in
this foreign land called Florida? Could she live with Brad
Blue—with who he was, what he was . . . or with the man she
suspected he once had been?

“
Uh-oh,” Brad said as Claire walked
into the brightly lit kitchen. “When you took Jamie to bed, I was
under the impression you’d had the time of your lives. Now you’re
looking at me like I’m Jack the Ripper. Care to give me a
clue?”

“
We had a
great
time, but . . . well, there’s something we
have to talk about.”

Unflappable as always, Brad simply nodded,
picked up Claire’s fancy beer stein, his own bottle of ale, and
gestured for her to lead the way to the deck. They settled
themselves on an antique wicker sofa cooled by a gentle breeze off
the gulf. The stars were so clear—scattered all the way to the
horizon where they dipped into the black void of the gulf—they
might have been a painted backdrop.

Florida could be beautiful, Claire thought,
as melancholy crept out of the darkness and grabbed her by the
throat. She could learn to live here. With the right man. So easy
to chicken out, not say a word.

Noblesse oblige.

Claire began quietly. “You worked for the
government, didn’t you?”

Brad sucked in his breath, the brown bottle
of ale poised an inch from his lips. Carefully, he set it down on
the glass-topped coffee table. “Who told you that?” His question
was as softly controlled as hers.

“
No one. It’s just that I’m so familiar
with the breed. There’s a look, a stance, a
something
. When you’ve seen as many as I have,
it’s not so hard to tell.” Claire’s eyes never left her hands,
which were tightly clasped around her stein to keep them from
shaking.

“
Would you care to tell me about it?”
Claire detected the sudden hard edge beneath Brad’s bland tone. The
flare of old instincts at the scent of a mystery.

“
I remember all those government
recruiters on campus,” Claire said. “Men in suits who stood out
like sore thumbs among the chinos and jeans. And then at Alumni
Weekends—the old Blues . . .” Claire made a face. “I guess that
includes me. Jim and I were both Yalies, though ten years
apart.”