Chapter Four

      “What the hell was that all about?” Nathan demanded before James barely had time to get through the door.

      “He’s just upset that Grandmother put me in charge.” Shelby tried to shrug off the incident, but Nathan could see she was still shaken. Her face was pale, and her eyes glittered just a little too brightly. She walked out to the showroom, as if to assure herself that James had really left. Nathan followed her. “He’s worried about the business, I guess.”

      “Worried about getting his hands on Miss Annabel’s money, you mean.” Nathan had never liked James Westmoreland, and after that summer when he’d made Shelby’s life a living hell, Nathan had hated him even more.

      He’d never known the full truth of what happened down by the river that night—what Shelby had actually witnessed—though he’d never doubted for a minute that she’d seen something. But after James had claimed that he’d made the whole thing up and gotten Shelby to go along with him, everyone in town—the whole country, it seemed—had ended up laughing at her.

      Nathan would have taken great pleasure in pounding James Westmoreland into a bloody pulp, but he’d only been a kid and James had been a grown man. He would have throttled Nathan if given half a chance, but things were different now. If James ever so much as laid a hand on Shelby again…

      Nathan drew a deep breath, trying to quell the gnawing urge to go track James down right now and settle that old score. But he didn’t think Shelby would welcome his interference. She didn’t seem too happy about his presence in general.

      He thought about what he’d overheard James say to her—that she’d been hospitalized after her attack. That the nurses still remembered her screams. Those bleak images ate at Nathan. He hated to think of Shelby so vulnerable, alone and frightened.

      She’d been through something pretty horrible, and yet here she was, a survivor, a woman with more inner strength than probably even she knew.

      Virgil was right. Her story would make a hell of a human-interest piece.

      “So what brings you by so early?” She toyed with the filmy scarf tied at her neck. The blue floral pattern brought out the azure of her eyes and the creamy quality of the pearls in her lobes. Her hair was cut in a short, choppy style that looked as if she’d taken the shears to it in desperation, but that had, in reality, probably cost a fortune at some exclusive Beverly Hills salon. She looked both elegant and sophisticated standing behind a display case, and it struck Nathan anew how many years had come and gone since he’d last seen her.

      He moved around to the other side, so they were standing face-to-face, with only the expanse of the glass case between them. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, and we didn’t get much of a chance to talk last night.”

      “No, I guess we didn’t.” She paused, her gaze anxious. “Have you heard anything more about the body they found in the river?”

      “Not much. His name was Danny Weathers.”

      She nodded. “Yes, Dewayne told me last night. The name sounds familiar.”

      “He was my age. We used to hang out sometimes.” Nathan frowned, remembering Danny Weathers as a boy, the times they’d gone fishing together, camped out on the river together. Nathan had used their childhood friendship as a way to reconnect with Danny once he’d found out Danny worked for Takamura. Now Danny was dead, and Nathan had a bad feeling—a very bad feeling—that it might be because Danny had talked to him. If that was the case, it was as Nathan had told his uncle—he wouldn’t rest until the truth came out.

      Shelby gazed at him strangely, as if she’d somehow picked up on his thoughts. “You’re still not convinced it was an accident, are you?”

      “Let’s just say I’m keeping an open mind.” He glanced down at the jewelry pieces and the assortment of loose pearls protected inside the glass. “Your grandmother still does beautiful work, doesn’t she?”

      Shelby smiled. “Do you remember what we used to call some of the shapes of the pearls?”

      “Angel wings, rosebuds, turtlebacks, dog’s teeth.” Nathan grinned. “Strange how it all comes back. I always figured pearlers gave the baroque shapes such colorful names to add to their mystique, since they were less valuable than the rounds.”

      “Very possibly.” Shelby unlocked the case and took out a cream-colored pearl with a magnificent luster. Nested in her hand, the gem came alive, glowing like moonlight against her palm. “Grandmother always said pearls are like candlelight. So romantic and very flattering, no matter the skin tone.”

      “I agree.” Nathan took the pearl from Shelby’s hand, lifting it to her face.

      The pearl felt cool against his fingertips, a fine counterpoint to the warmth of Shelby’s smooth cheek. He hadn’t touched her in a very long time, and the feel of her skin against his, the knowledge that she was so close after all these years…

      She stepped back suddenly, as if she’d been burned. The pearl would have dropped to the glass surface if Nathan hadn’t caught it in time.

      Her gaze flew up to meet his. She seemed a little dazed. Nathan wondered what she was thinking, if the touch of his fingers against her cheek had affected her the same way it had him. “Have dinner with me tonight,” he said impulsively.

      She looked almost shocked. “I…can’t.”

      “Why not?”

      “I don’t go out.”

      “Even with an old friend?”

      “No.” Her tone was adamant.

      “I don’t understand.” Nathan gazed at her for a long, silent moment. “We were once best friends. Why would it be so wrong for us to have dinner together?”

      Her expression turned almost defiant, as if she were fighting very hard to control her emotions. “Our friendship was a long time ago.”

      “Yes, but I haven’t had a really close friend since you left town.” He paused, then said softly, “I think maybe it’s been that way for you, too.”

      She frowned. “What makes you think I don’t have close friends?”

      “Because you were always a loner. Just like me.”

      “Don’t assume you still know me,” she warned. “People change in twenty years.”

      Not you, he thought. In spite of the changes in her appearance, Shelby was very much the way he remembered her. Sweet, quiet, very intense. Soft-looking on the outside, but tough on the inside when she had to be.

      She’d never been one to run from her fears—even going so far as to wait on the riverbank at midnight for a glimpse of the Pearl River Monster. And then later, when people in town had turned against her, she’d faced the ridicule with the same quiet determination, never once running away. Never once dissolving into tears.

      Nathan had been the one to act a fool, swearing at her tormentors, picking fights, getting his nose bloodied more times than he could count. That was what had made Shelby cry.

      He gazed