Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [47]
Sandy whirled around as she pretended not to look at the guy in the boat. What was taking Kate so long? She scuffed the superhot sand with her bare foot and found a ratty-looking cracked shell. She stared at it, then shoved it into her pocket just as she heard the metal screen door to the hut slam shut. Kate loped over to where she was standing.
“What did you find out?” Sandy demanded.
“Maybe nothing, maybe something. Guy definitely is not a fisherman. He doesn’t have any buckets of bait on that boat. There’s no bait on his hook. Saw him check it. He’s reading some thriller. At least it looks like a thriller, and the author’s name is Loomis. Either he’s a slow reader, or he likes to read the same page over and over. He didn’t flip the page the whole time I was watching him. The way his head was tilted, he was watching you. He’s wearing sunglasses, but damn if he doesn’t look familiar. For whatever it’s worth, I do not think he’s a tourist or some guy trying to get some peace and quiet. Hey, he could be a superspy, or he could just be some dumb schmuck out there piddling around hoping to pick up some hot babe in a string bikini water-skiing. But my gut is telling me he bears watching.”
Sandy frowned. “But you’re leaning toward him being something other than what he’s trying to portray, right?”
“Yes. We’ll keep our eyes on him to see if there’s any change. I can’t get over how he reminds me of someone. Oh, well, sooner or later it will come to me. Oh, oh, I almost forgot, the name of the boat is Sooner or Later. It doesn’t look new, kind of battered and tacky actually. I think it’s a rental, so Jelly will probably come up with something on it fairly quick. Now, let’s see what those guys are all about, so we can get back to what we do best—which at the moment is zip. Tell me again why we’re checking out these guys other than you want to hit on the redheaded one. By the way, where’s that damn bird?”
Sandy looked around and shrugged. “Probably waiting at his digs to welcome us. He sure is a salty old bird.”
Kate sighed. What she called her belly-sight was kicking in, which meant something was out of kilter. She hated it when she couldn’t figure something out. Was it the guy out on the boat? Was he there to check out the cop and his brother? Where in the damn hell did that bird figure into things? Sooner or Later. Who did the guy in the boat remind her of?
“Okay, we’re almost there. Let’s get our act together. I’ll take the lead since you get tongue-tied around men. You know you really have to get over that hang-up of yours. It’s been proven that women are superior, so start acting like you believe it. Two minutes tops. We invite them. If they say no, we leave. If they say yes, we still leave. We can pick their brains around the fire. A little beer or wine loosens the tongue. We’re just being neighborly and have no ulterior motives. They don’t know who we are, so we’re safe. Any holes in anything I just said?” Sandy asked.
Kate grimaced, her eyes on the boat in the water. “Yeah, one really big hole. The guy is a cop, for crying out loud. What makes you think he didn’t go to the same guy, the leader of this damn Key, and ask who we are? Jelly had to give it all up. The cop, in case you haven’t figured it out, is a resident of this Key. No one is going to hold out on a cop. We’re renters, squatters, or whatever you want to call us. I can almost guarantee they know who we are, so let’s just dispense with any cover story. We’re here. They’re here. You are inviting them to a weenie roast. I don’t want to come across as a fool and have to backpedal so that has to be the end of the story. Agreed?”
“Yep.”
Kate licked at her dry lips. Damn, she should have put some sunscreen on before they left the hut. Her stomach was tied in a knot, and she hated the feeling. Sandy was right, Kate thought, she never did well meeting men in a social setting. For sure it was one of her worst hang-ups. One-on-one with a gun in her hand, she had no equal. She steeled herself when they got to the property line,