Sunset Hearts (5 page)

“That’s never stopped you before.”

Jerald scrubbed Alan’s back for him, then rinsed off. “I’ll shave at home.” He kissed Alan. “I want a call from you as soon as you’re back at the dock, understand?” He poked Alan in the chest.

Alan smiled as he shot him a salute. “Yes sir, Major Carter.”

“Smart ass.” Jerald ducked into the bedroom to throw on his T-shirt and shorts.

He kept his uniforms and FMP truck at his trailer. He’d never parked his work vehicle overnight at Alan’s house.

Alan was drying off when Jerald returned, dressed and ready to go, his holstered gun in his hand. He pulled Alan to him and kissed him. “Call me, or I will go totally batshit on you.”

Alan nodded, loving the familiar routine. Any time the winds kicked up, so did Jerald’s protective streak.

He wouldn’t have it any other way. “I promise I will.”

One last kiss, and then he left.

Naked, Alan walked into the kitchen to pour his own coffee. Two important battles won. He had a promise from Jerald to give living together a shot, and going someplace together as a
couple
.

He turned on the TV and listened to the early news and weather as he sipped his coffee. Going places together was never an issue. They shopped together, ate out, went to movies, but always with an invisible barrier between them when away from the safety of Alan’s house. No one who didn’t know them would ever suspect they were
together
. It wasn’t a secret, but Jerald didn’t want it openly in-your-face advertised. Alan respected that. Recently, Jerald had loosened up somewhat, but they’d never been to someone’s house together as a couple. Usually they arrived in separate cars, even though most of the people who knew them knew their relationship status.

One of those silent things no one talked about because they honestly couldn’t care less.

All Alan had left was to convince one Jerald Dennis Carter of that fact.

His heart light, Alan dressed and loaded his gear in his truck for the short drive to the marina in Aripeka. He had nearly two hours before the charter would show up, but he wanted to be ready. He needed ice and bait and could get all that handled.

Other guides were arriving at the marina, preparing for their own charters. Alan was chatting with a friend of his when his cell phone rang. Ten minutes later, as daylight broke, he found himself without a charter. The entire party had food poisoning. Could they go out tomorrow, on Wednesday? Lucky for them, he didn’t have a charter and agreed.

The wind hadn’t kicked up too bad, yet. The last thing he wanted to do today was boat maintenance or sit at home doing paperwork. The radar showed the main frontal boundary still hours offshore. Conditions would deteriorate early in the afternoon, but he had enough time to go hit the backcountry for a while like he’d originally planned. Maybe hook into some snook himself.

One of the other guides called out to him as he headed for his boat. “Where’s your charter, Al?”

“They postponed until tomorrow. I’m going to go out for a while, be back before lunch.” He stared preparations to leave. Jerald’s FMP boat still bobbed in its usual slip on the other end of the marina. At least Jerald would be happy he wouldn’t be out long.

He was about to cast off when Jerald’s FMP truck pulled into the marina parking lot. Alan cranked his engine and let it idle as he waited for Jerald to take his time walking down the dock. Still a little too dark to wear his trademark mirrored sunglasses, he carried them clipped to his shirt pocket. He wore uniform shorts today, not long pants. The charcoal material accentuated his firm, powerful thighs and tight ass. Not that he could see Jerald’s ass from that angle, but he had plenty of memories of staring at it and knew exactly what it looked like.

He could, however, see the familiar bulge between his lover’s legs, the bulge he spent a lot of up close and personal time with.

Damn, he looks hot.

Jerald glared down at Alan from the dock.”Where’s your charter?”

“Bad shrimp scampi last night. They’re going out tomorrow instead.”

Jerald squatted down so he wouldn’t have to yell over the noise of the engine. “Where the hell are
you
going then?” he grumbled.

“Chill out. I’m not even going as far as the head marker. Tide’s coming in. I’m going to stay close to the flats, hit the back country, piddle around Indian Bay for a while. Maybe run up as far as Bayport into the river. No open water, I swear.”

Jerald’s radio squawked. He listened for a moment, then turned it down. “Be careful, please?”

“I promise.”

Jerald glanced around, apparently didn’t spot anyone paying attention to them. He crooked a finger at Alan, who stepped to the side of the boat. When he did, Jerald leaned in and kissed him. On the lips.

Stunned, Alan broke into a grin as Jerald stood up and slipped his sunglasses on. His lips curled in a playful smirk. “See you tonight,
Captain
.” He turned and walked down the dock, leaving a stupefied Alan in his wake.

That was the first time, ever, Jerald had done something like that in public. Especially considering they were in “home territory,” so to speak.

Laughing, Alan cast off his lines and slowly pulled his boat out of the slip. He motored out of the marina at idle speed, then turned north toward Hernando Beach. A few natural channels deep enough for his boat to navigate, especially at high tide, wound from the woods and wetlands into the sawgrass flats. He could try his luck in the canals and sheltered coves.

Not too many small boats out on a day like this, grey and breezy, choppy. He thought he spotted a bright splash of color a hundred or so yards in the distance, in some shallows at the edge of the sawgrass flats.

Probably a loose crab buoy.

He motored into a relatively calm inlet and almost immediately hooked several small snook, which he released. An hour later, his phone buzzed.

He took a quick glance at it before answering. Jerald’s private cell. “I’m in a little place nearly as calm as a lake,” Alan immediately said. “I’m fine.”

“When are you coming in?” Jerald growled. “I’ve got to run down south to Hudson and take a look around. A crabber reported someone’s tampering with his traps.”

“Hang on to your balls, buddy. It’s rough out there. And you gave
me
shit about being out in open water?”

“Yeah, bite me. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.
Your
ass better be at the marina before me.”

Alan laughed. “Stay safe. Love you.”

Jerald didn’t hesitate to reply. “Love you, too.”

Alan put his phone back in the console. Okay, so it wouldn’t hurt to go back in to humor him. Especially considering what he looked forward to that evening. Not just a barbecue, but attending a barbecue with his
boyfriend
. Add to that the fact that Jerald had agreed to try living together.

Jerald Carter wasn’t a difficult man to get along with, as long as you practiced the fine art of compromise and didn’t mind his normally stony facade.

Jerald could sometimes make Mt. Rushmore look talkative.

He cranked the engine before pulling anchor. When he emerged from the sawgrass flats, he spotted that same strange blob of color.

Curiosity got the better of him.
What the hell, why not look?
He checked the depth finder and raised the engine as high as he could to protect the skeg and prop. As he neared, he couldn’t get any closer than twenty yards away because the bottom grew too shallow.

That’s when he realized the bright splash of pink wasn’t a loose crab buoy, but a one-piece swimsuit on a woman’s body.

Oh, fuck.

He hit the mark on his GPS to save the coordinates, threw the anchor, then prepared to call in his find to Jerald. That’s when the woman raised her head before exhaustedly collapsing again.

He ripped off his shirt, kicked off his shoes, and vaulted over the side into the knee-deep water. She looked beat to hell, scratched and cut, but alive.

“Ma’am?”

She lifted her head again as he slogged toward her. Then she started crying. “Oh, thank God!”

Caked in muck and mud, her long, blonde hair was matted to her head. Her hazel eyes looked bloodshot and terrified. Her pink bathing suit was also cut in a few places, and he noticed the scuba mask hanging around her neck.

And a fanny pack around her waist?

He picked her up and carried her to the boat as she tightly clung to his neck and cried against his shoulder. Under different circumstances he guessed she was probably pretty.

“How the hell did you get out here, lady?”

“I need to get to shore. Please take me in. I’ll pay you.”

“You’re not paying me anything.” He hefted her, hoisted her up on the gunwale before wading around the back to use the swim step to climb in. “How’d you get out here?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I need to call the Coast Guard and report you found. Someone must be looking for you.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, no! Please, you can’t tell anyone you found me!”

Every last one of his bullshit alarms rang. “Why?”

She shook her head. He had to grab her arm and haul her back into the boat when she tried to dive off the side as she hysterically screamed, “No! I won’t go back! He’ll kill me!”

“All right, Jesus, calm down!” He held her until she stopped thrashing. Holy crap, her skin felt ice cold. “You promise not to jump out, I promise I’ll hear your story and won’t call the Coasties. Deal?”

She nodded, shivering despite the warm morning.

He grabbed a couple of towels out of the dry storage locker and wrapped them around her. “Now tell me what happened?”

“Do you have a bottle of water?”

He got her one and she drained it in several long, thirsty gulps. She finished half of a second bottle before she stopped. “I didn’t fall overboard. I jumped. Last night.”

He blinked in surprise. “Why the hell would you do that?”

She looked him in the eye. “Have you ever heard of the Scorsini family?”

“Sounds familiar.”

She shivered and pulled the towels tighter around her. “The father’s on trial in federal court in Tampa right now for racketeering and murder.”

“Oh.” He realized what she meant. “Oooh.
That
Scorsini family.”

“Family with a capital F.”

He rubbed his forehead, wondering what the hell he’d just gotten himself into. “Let’s back up and start with your name. I’m Alan Walker.”

“Daphne Peres.” She told him what happened as he dried off and pulled his shirt back on. When she finished, he had to admit he believed her, even though he suspected she left out more than a few details. Regardless, no one was crazy enough to do what she did without a damn good reason.

“You can’t tell anyone you found me,” she begged. “I need to get away.”

“Daphne, you’re going to have to talk to someone.” When the panicked expression filled her face again, he held up a hand. “Take a second to look at yourself. You need to get checked out, you have to see a doctor. You’ll be lucky if you can even walk.” He knelt in front of her and picked up one of her feet, his touch gentle as he examined the sole. Her skin had turned white and wrinkled from being in the water all night, but ugly slices full of mud marred the bottoms of her feet.

“You’ve got a bunch of nasty cuts on your feet. Some of them look pretty deep. I can call an ambulance for you when we get to shore.”

She frantically shook her head. “No, please!”

“Can I at least call someone for you? Anyone?”

She shivered and looked away. “I don’t have anyone,” she quietly said.

“No one?”

She shook her head.

Jerald would kill him for not calling him into this, but he had to help her. “Listen, my boyfriend is a marine patrol officer. We’ll talk to him and he can help you.” He pointed at her feet. “You can barely walk. I’ll get you cleaned up, and then we’ll call him.”

“You can’t tell anyone you’ve found me.” She started crying again. “Please, he’ll report it and they’ll find me!”

Alan had to follow his instincts. Whatever her deal, no doubt she felt terrified. “I’ve got an idea. I’ll take you home with me, but I can’t take you into the marina. You going to behave and not try to run away?”

She tried to stand, crying out as she apparently realized he was right.

He shook his head. “You can’t walk like this. Let me help you.”

“Okay,” she said.

* * * *

Alan Walker was a cutie. A freaking angel on Earth. Saved her life, and he’s gay. Why not? If he wasn’t gay, he’d probably be happily married to a supermodel and have a house full of kids.

Figures. My fucking dumb luck.

She didn’t speak as they motored south. She shivered as she held the towels around her and tried to warm up. So she left out the part of her story about witnessing a murder, tweaked the events to make it sound like Paulie was really an abusive asshole.

Minor freaking detail. If she told Alan about the murder, she was a dead woman. Not to mention this poor guy’s life would also be in danger. At least this way, if she disappeared for a while without mentioning the murder, Paulie might not think she saw anything. He’d probably assume she died. He wouldn’t be reporting her lost overboard, that’s for sure. She didn’t know how she’d get away from this guy, but no freaking way would she let anyone keep her from running.