Picture Me Dead. Heather Graham
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never stop me from pursuing any dream,” Ashley said a little defensively. And it was true. She knew Nick had been disappointed when she turned down the scholarship that had been offered to her by a prestigious Manhattan art college. But even with the scholarship, the money necessary to live and study in New York—even in a dorm—would have been too much. She could have gotten a part-time job, but it wouldn’t have been enough. Nick would have tried to help, but with tourism suffering, he would probably have just about sent himself into bankruptcy.
“Look, I love art, but I always wanted to be a cop. My dad was a cop, remember?”
“None of us really remembers,” Karen said. “It was so long ago.”
“I remember that I loved my folks and admired my dad,” Ashley said. “And police work is fascinating.”
“Yeah, real fascinating. You’re going to be in a patrol car, trying to chase down speeders, like Karen,” Jan said.
“Cute, Jan, really cute,” Karen said.
“Sorry.”
“Honest to God, I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing,” Ashley said.
“So, horses or dancing tonight?” Karen said.
“Let’s just flip a coin—we’ll fit them both in,” she promised. She crumpled up the wrapper from her sandwich along with the napkin on which she’d been drawing. “Ready to hit the road?”
“Want me to drive?” Karen asked.
“Good God, no!” Jan piped in. “She’ll be arresting you—or giving you a warning speech, at the very least—from the passenger seat. Hey, can you write a ticket if you’re sitting next to someone who’s driving your own car?”
“Jan,” Karen said firmly. “I’m going to throttle you in a minute. Your precious little throat will be wounded, and you’ll sound like a dying ’gator rather than a songbird.”
“Hey, you heard that—she’s threatening me!” Jan said.
“Oh, will you two please stop?” Ashley begged, a smile twitching her lips.
“Seriously, want one of us to drive?” Karen said.
Ashley shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”
As far as driving went, she was fine.
But…
It felt as if the body on the highway would be etched into her mind forever.
CHAPTER 2
Nick was behind the bar, washing glasses, when Sharon Dupre returned. She hurried in, hoping he wasn’t going to ask about where she’d been. She had said that she would arrive to help with the lunch crowd, but she hadn’t managed to get back in time.
He didn’t question her. She should have known he wouldn’t, she thought as he looked up at her with his customary grin. Nick wasn’t the jealous type. If she wasn’t enjoying his company and wanted out, she was welcome to leave at any time. If she was happy with him, well, then, she should be there, and he would be delighted.
“Hey, how was your day?” he asked.
“Great.”
“Sell anything?”
“Showed two expensive places, but I don’t have any bites—yet.”
“It takes time.”
“Has Ashley called? Did the girls reach their hotel yet?”
Nick shook his head. “She won’t call me today unless there’s a problem. I’ll probably hear from her tomorrow. Hey, she loved the cookies. She’ll tell you herself, when she gets back.”
“Good, I’m glad.”
She set her purse down behind the bar and gave him a kiss, wishing she didn’t feel so nervous. It wasn’t like her. She was never uneasy. Never. She was always in control.
She started to leave, but he pulled her back, giving her a stronger, much more suggestive kiss. When he released her, she flushed. “Sandy Reilly just came in, and he’s staring at us!”
“Sandy’s as old as the hills, and we’re stirring memories of adventure and excitement and raw sexual thrills for him,” Nick replied.
“Chill, you two,” Sandy called out. “And break it up. Let’s have some service around this place. The old-as-the-hills guy has perfect hearing, and he needs a beer.”
Sharon and Nick broke apart, both of them laughing. Nick called out, “Beer’s on the house, Sandy.”
“Thank the good Lord for some things in life,” Sandy said, shaking his white head. “I could really use a cold one.”
“You sound desperate, Sandy.”
“I am. Now I know why I stick to boats. Just went to pay some bills, and it felt as if I were on the road forever. The traffic sucks.”
“Worse than usual?” Nick said.
“Hell yes, seems like every psycho in the world is out there today, and I ain’t driving again. Line ’em up for me, Nick. Line ’em up.”
Beneath the water, Jake Dilessio could hear the sound of the scraper against the boat. Strange sound, more like rubbing than scratching. He finished with the last of the stubborn barnacles just as his air was giving out. He rose the few feet to the surface, grabbed the Gwendolyn’s back ladder, inhaled a deep breath and drew his mask from his face in a single fluid motion. Dripping, he climbed the ladder and stepped onto his houseboat.
He sensed the whirl of motion before his attacker came after him. Tension, years of training and a rush of adrenaline kicked in.
As a fist shot out, he ducked, then bolted straight up, sending out his own left jab. Luck was with him, and he caught his mystery opponent straight in the jaw.
To his amazement, the man—wearing a tailored white dress shirt, tie, seamed navy pants and leather loafers—stayed down, something like a sob escaping him as he heaved in a breath and balanced on one hand and his knees, rubbing his jaw.
“Ah, hell,” Jake muttered softly. “Brian?”
“You were sleeping with her,” the man said.
Jake reached down, helping his attacker to his feet. The man was almost his height, slim, well built and usually attractive, a blue-eyed, blond surfer type, the kind of guy to whom women tended to flock. Right now, however, his blue eyes were red-rimmed and puffed up from crying, and his jaw was swelling, disrupting the usual classic line of his features.
“Brian, what the hell are you doing here?” he asked quietly. The adrenaline had ebbed from his body as if he’d been deflated. “Come inside, I’ll get some ice for your jaw.”
Brian Lassiter started to pull away, then followed Jake into the living room of his houseboat. Efficiently designed, the Gwendolyn offered a broad main room/kitchen/dining room area all in one, while a set of stairs led down to an aft cabin and another few steps led up to the main cabin at the fore.
He drew Brian in, setting him on a bar stool, and opened the freezer to get ice. He wrapped a number of cubes in a bar towel and walked over to his visitor, shoving the bundle at him. “Here, put this on your jaw. I’ll make coffee.”
“I don’t need coffee.”
“You sure as hell do.”
“As if you’ve never had a few too many to drink.”
“I’ve had a few too many to drink a few too many times. And I’ve done some stupid ass stuff. But coming at me like that…hell, you could have gotten yourself killed.”
“I just wanted to deck you once,” Brian said. His voice dropped to a whisper-like sob.