Night Swimming (13 page)

A volatile mix of fury, jealousy, and despair erupted inside her. She would show him, she’d raged inwardly, scooping up the volleyball. Her plan, to send it flying directly at Sean’s head—knowing full well, of course, that she would miss. Except for swimming, she was a horrific failure at sports. She was the butt of jokes when it was her turn to serve, kick, or shoot. Lily knew she’d miss, but she’d succeed in wiping that stupid, conceited grin off his face.

She’d tossed the ball in the air and hammered it, putting all her strength, all her fury behind the serve. Off to the side of the court, someone yelled, “Watch out, McDermott!”

Sean had pivoted and, for some reason, looked straight at her. The movement brought him directly into the path of the white leather missile. It nailed him, a perfect strike, a bull’s eye, or rather a bull’s nose, seeing that it practically flattened Sean’s.

Naturally, everyone believed Lily had actually
intended
to break his nose.

She hadn’t thought Sean capable of despising her more. But she was wrong.

The violence of her act had horrified her. Yet every time she screwed up the courage to speak to Sean and apologize, he had walked away. Finally she understood: He would never forgive her. So Lily buried every feeling born that night at the beach beneath numbing layers of ice. And their silent war resumed.

Soon, everything was back to the way it had always been.

Not even leaving Coral Beach had changed things between them, Lily reminded herself sadly.

The memory of Sean’s seemingly magical apparition at her
pensione
in Rome still made her cringe with embarrassment. She’d been flustered, speechless with wonder at his presence, her heart giddy at the idea of Sean tracking her down. Her naiveté laughable—Chris Jenkins, her college roommate’s boyfriend, certainly found it so. Actually, he’d thought it hilarious when he overheard Sean bluntly informing Lily that the only reason he was there was because Kaye had
begged
him. Chris spent the rest of their week in Rome talking about “the poor slob from Florida who was wandering around the city with a broken heart.”

From the mileage Chris got out of that remark, Lily knew he’d guessed who the “poor slob” really was: not Sean, but a miserable girl with long blond hair.

Oh, God,
Lily thought, turning her back to the window and walking away. She was still that same pathetic, love-struck girl. Because despite a history of hurt, Lily had never met anyone who could make her heart pound, make her breathless with yearning like Sean.

If only Karen weren’t so very wrong.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“Jesus, Sean, you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“What?” Sean managed a grin between gasps of air. “You going soft on me, Dave?”

“Up yours, McDermott,” Dave growled, shooting him a baleful look. “I hope I live long enough to see you feel this shitty.”

Sean laughed. With a yank, he pulled his goggles off and tossed them onto the pool deck, jacked his arms overhead, and let his body sink until his head was completely submerged. The water felt delicious against his heated skin. He resurfaced, shaking his head like a dog, making water spray in an arc, then reached up and grasped the lower rung of the starting block.

Dave’s chest was still heaving like overworked bellows. “Christ almighty, this is supposed to be a
workout
, McDermott. Do you mind telling me what’s got you swimming like a man possessed?”

From the far end of the pool came the ringing baritone of their coach, a voice almost as big as the man who owned it. “Yo, Sean, Dave,” Hal Storey called. “What’s with the lounging? You finished that last set already?”

“That’s right,” Sean yelled back. Next to him, Dave cursed. “Cullen’s raring to go, Hal,” he added. “Thinks you’re giving us way too much rest on our intervals.” He grabbed his goggles and put them back on.

“Well, he’ll like this next set, then. It’s a killer. Be right over, Dave.”

Dave groaned loudly. “Since when did you become such a sadist, McDermott?”

Since Lily Banyon rolled back into town.
The answer trumpeted inside Sean’s brain. “You should be thanking me, Dave, rather than griping. After all, I’m what’s keeping you from hauling a spare tire around your middle, what’s allowing you to chug down that third brew at the Keel.”

“Funny, though, ain’t it? How this newfound concern of yours to whip my butt into shape just happens to coincide with the arrival of a certain marine biologist?” It was Dave’s turn to grin. “Yeah,” he continued with a nod, “I think Lily Banyon might have something to do with this new boot camp mentality of yours, Sean.”

“Lily Banyon? Did I hear you say Lily Banyon?” Hal Storey towered over them, his stopwatch dangling from his neck, a clipboard with one of his infamously grueling workouts tucked underneath his arm.

“You know Lily Banyon?” Dave asked, tilting his head back.

“Sure do,” Hal replied. “Heard a rumor she was back in town, part of that reef study you two set up. Boy, I’d love to see my little water Lily again.”

“Little? She was
never
little, Hal,” Sean corrected before he could stop himself. “She joined when, at thirteen? She was the tallest kid for years.”

Damn it,
Sean couldn’t believe this was happening. The pool was one of the few places he should be able to forget Lily’s existence. Here he was talking about her.

“I didn’t know you’d coached Lily, Hal,” Dave said.

Dave had only moved to Coral Beach four years ago, when the Parks and Recreation Department hired him. Sean couldn’t fathom Dave’s sudden interest in Hal’s coaching career, unless it was to torture him by getting Hal to reminisce about his “little water Lily,” which Sean had a sinking premonition was precisely what was going to happen.

“You bet I did,” Hal said. “I started out here coaching the age group swimmers. Lily joined the team pretty late for an age grouper. But she was an absolute natural in the water. Within two months she’d moved to the fastest lane. Swam with you, didn’t she, Sean?”

“She swam
behind
me. I led the lane.”

Hal merely grunted, ignoring him. “Yeah, she was incredible. That body just ate up the water. Smoothest, longest stroke you’ve ever seen on a thirteen-year-old. Hell of a pair of lungs, too. You remember those underwater sets I’d throw at you guys?”

“You mean the ones where we’d all be seeing black spots?”

“Not all of you. Not Lily. Damn, that girl could go on and on. So, it’s true she’s back? Hadn’t heard from her in awhile.”

Hal kept all of Lily’s postcards. The whole gamut, from gaudy beach bunnies to spectacular tropical vistas, lined his office walls.

“Yeah, she’s back,” Sean replied shortly.

“What do you think the likelihood is of her coming to a workout?”

“Real slim. You’d have better odds playing the lotto.” Damn it all, swim practice was the only chance he had to push his body until he was so physically spent, his exhaustion outweighed his sexual hunger. With Lily in the pool, he’d have to be dead not to want her.

“Ah, come on, Sean, be nice and invite her to a practice. Besides, I’m not sure our friendship can stand you blowing me out of the water for the duration of her stay.” Dave’s grin was pure evil.

“Yeah, Sean, it’d be like old times,” Hal chimed in, way too enthusiastically. “Glory days.”

Sean groaned loudly. “You haven’t been listening to Springsteen again, have you, Hal?” he asked, shaking his head in despair. “I’ll let you in on a secret: Some of us have actually accomplished something since the wonder years of high school.”

“Let’s see how cocky you feel after this sprint set, Mr. Mayor,” Hal said.

He shrugged, sending ripples through the water. “Bring it on, Hal. Dave needs all the pumping up he can get. That way he might even see something the next time he flexes in front of his bathroom mirror.”

“A low blow, McDermott. Just for that, I think I’ll drop by the marina tomorrow and say hi to Lily and that photographer of hers. Might slip in a word or two about our swim team to her.” He laughed as Sean’s jaw went slack. “That’ll teach you to try and drown your best buddy.”

You’re such a troll, John.

Karen would be eating her words if she could see me
now,
John thought. Maybe he should have brought her along, if only to show her how well he was treated in certain places. He’d have loved to see her expression when they walked into the Dolphin and he was greeted by name. But then again, she would doubtless have embarrassed him with one of her typically moronic questions, like,
Was the wine organic?

John rolled his eyes in disgust, reached for a pretzel, and chewed reflectively. Besides, who cared what a ditz like Karen Masur thought? Not him, not when he had babes like Trish coming on to him. With a slight frown he raised his G and T to his lips. One look at Trish would have shut Karen’s trap permanently.

“Hey, there, John,” a familiar voice hailed.

John turned, his face clearing as Pete Ferrucci walked up and slapped a jovial hand on his shoulder. The older man pulled out the barstool next to him. “Good to see you again, John. Is Mike here treating you right?”

“Most excellently, Mr. Ferrucci.” Mike, the bartender who was currently on duty, had not only known John’s name, he’d been keeping an eye on John’s glass, never letting it go empty. This place was definitely a trip and a half. John had never been in a restaurant where the staff went out of its way to remember the clientele’s names. And Mike had been the one to wave Trish over so he could introduce her to John. The ultrafriendly Trish. She’d left a few minutes ago, but not before wringing a promise from John that he’d drop by her place and party with her later tonight. She’d written her address on a scrap of paper and shoved it down the front pocket of his trousers. She hadn’t removed her hand until he had a dinosaur of a boner for her.

Yeah, who cared about Karen when there were babes like Trish ready to ball him blind?

“This is a really fantastic place you’ve got here, Mr. Ferrucci. The Dolphin rocks.”

“It’s Pete, remember, John? I’m glad you like it. I think the Dolphin’s given Coral Beach a certain class. Someday soon, I’d like to open a few more places like this, really make the town into something. . . .”

“Well, if the Dolphin’s anything to go by—” John began.

“Thanks. You can’t imagine how damn hard it is. People around here—you know, the ones who’ve lived in this town forever, who hold the town in sway—these people have no vision. They can’t see the possibilities, what this town
could
be. But enough of that,” he said, as Mike set a glass down before him.

In silence, Ferrucci twirled the ice cubes of his drink with the red plastic swizzle stick until Mike reached the other end of the bar, out of earshot. “How’s the study coming along? You went out today, right?”

“Yeah, it’s a good-sized reef—there are a lot more specimens than I expected.”

“Hmm.”
Ferrucci nodded absently. “Tell me, how do you and Banyon divide the work between you?”

“Well, I’m in charge of collecting water and algae samples, taking water temperature readings and core samples. Banyon positions the sediment traps, makes observations in her notebook on the different coral species. When we get to the lab, I give her my readings, and she logs all the data into the computer.”

“That’s interesting. Now what are these core samples all about? I don’t remember Lesnesky mentioning them. They important?”

“Definitely,” John said, nodding. “Core samples are another way to gauge the amount of sediment and pollution in an area. We take core samples by inserting a six-inch cylinder into the ocean floor. Then the lab technicians examine the strata trapped inside the tubes, test them for different kinds of bacteria, pollutants, nitrates, or metals. Core samples give a really good picture of what’s settling over a certain area, and how heavily.”

Ferrucci twirled the plastic stirrer between his fingers. “And these analyses, you conduct them at the lab here in town?”

“No.” John shook his head. “This college lab doesn’t come close to having the kind of equipment we need. We store the samples, then ship them in batches to the Marine Center. They analyze them, give us the results, and Lily enters all the data into the computer.”

“Wow,” Ferrucci replied, sounding impressed. “That’s a helluva lot of sand to store. Must get kind of confusing, remembering what sample came from where?”

“Yeah, it’s a lot of sand, lot of everything. But we do the labeling back at the college lab after each day’s diving. That way, nothing gets mixed up. And we record everything in our notebooks, too, in case the computer crashes. . . . Banyon’s a stickler for details like that.” There was a grudging respect in John’s voice.

A frown crossed Pete Ferrucci’s face. “Hey, John, d’you remember those friends of mine I was talking about?” he said, switching topics abruptly. “They were very interested when I told them about this young hot-shot biologist I’d met. You know, there are a lot of doors waiting to be opened by a guy like you.” He helped himself to a pretzel. “ ’Course, marine biology is a highly competitive field. In order to get ahead, sometimes you have to take a little initiative. . . .”

“I do my work, my dissertation’s almost finished. I’m sure—”

“Yeah, maybe,” Ferrucci interrupted, his tone was skeptical. “I’m just worried that Banyon might prevent you from getting what you deserve. Damn, I’ve just got to get you together with these guys. I know you’d really like them, and it might give your career a boost.” Ferrucci straightened abruptly on the stool. “Say, are you by any chance free tomorrow night?”

“Uh, I guess so.” Realizing how weak-assed his response sounded, John cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m definitely free, Pete.”

“Great. Give me a call at this number.” He wrote down a number on the back of his business card. “I’ll let you know if my friends can meet us.” Ferrucci gave him a hearty slap on the back, then raised his glass. “Bottoms up, John.” And he took a long, satisfied sip.