Children of the Sea 01 - Sea Witch

before. Recently.
    Just because she sounded like a wet dream and smelled like a whole roll of Lifesavers was no reason to lose his mind or his cool.
     
    He shoved his hands in his pockets, as if he was approaching a crime scene. Don’t touch . “Right. Coming.”
     
    The door stood open. He walked in and there she was, naked in the bathtub, her dark hair damp on her bare shoulders and her breasts just below the bubble line.
     
    “Well.” He focused on her face with an effort. “You look better.”
     
    Her cheeks were flushed. Her knees rose from the sea of foam like little pink islands.
     
    “I feel better.” She stretched her shoulders, and her breasts bobbed briefly above the scented bubbles.
     
    He felt like an idiot, stiff and awkward. Aroused. “What did you want?”
     
    92
    “I need to go back to the beach,” she said. “Will you take me?”
     
    He shook his head, caution penetrating his fruit-flavored, lust-induced fog. “It’s too late.”
     
    “Likely in more ways than one.” Her full lips quirked and then firmed. “Nevertheless, I must go.”
     
    “Why?”
     
    Her eyes challenged his. “Does it matter?”
     
    “It might.” He remembered her wild struggle to reach the fire. She didn’t trust him. He needed her to trust him. “What’s on the beach, Maggie?”
     
    “Nothing now.”
     
    “Then—”
     
    She stood. Bubbles streamed down her body, parted over breast and thigh, slid over that gorgeous length of leg. “Will you hand me a towel?”
     
    His tongue was suddenly too large for his mouth. His pants were too tight. Wordless, he grabbed a towel off the edge of the sink and extended it toward her.
     
    Maggie wrapped her body, tucking the edge of the towel between her breasts. “If you won’t take me, I will find my own way.”
     
    He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll take you.”
     
    No reason not to, he reasoned, after he had processed the scene.
    Maybe returning to the place she’d been attacked would jog her memory.
     
    She smiled faintly. “Thank you.”
     
    “You did that on purpose.”
     
    Her smile broadened. “Do you care?”
     
    “Not if I get to see you naked,” he answered frankly, and was rewarded by her laugh.
     
    93
    “Then we both are satisfied.”
     
    “Not by a long shot.” Edgy and restless, he prowled the short distance to the sink and back, his hands still safely anchored in his pockets. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. After lunch.”
     
    She tilted her head, regarding him. “Not in the morning? ”
     
    “I’m busy.”
     
    “Ah.” She shrugged, making the towel move in interesting ways.
    “Until tomorrow, then.”
     
    He’d expected her to object, to acknowledge that she wanted him.
    Needed him, even if it was only for this. He had to find some way to reforge the connection between them, to remind her she was his.
     
    Unable to resist, he bent to kiss her, a brief, frustrated meeting of mouths.
     
    And left with the taste of her on his lips.
     
    94
     

Eight
     
    WHEN THE SUN ROSE, BLEEDING PINK BETWEEN the gray sky and the iron ocean, Caleb gained the light but lost four of the men he had assigned to protect the crime scene.
     
    Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.
     
    Red sky at morning, sailor take warning.
     
    Last night, he’d called out the island’s volunteer fire department, posting guards at the access road, the hiking trail, and both ends of the beach. Most of the firefighters were willing to sacrifice sleep for the novelty of playing policeman. But working men couldn’t ignore their jobs to stand around outside the yellow tape, smoking and speculating.
    Howard and Manuel had left with the lobster boats at 5:00 A.M.; Dick and Earl had taken the 7:00 ferry to the mainland.
     
    Caleb recorded their exits in the log book, aware of his team slipping away. His time, slipping away. His chances, slipping away. At 10:00
    A.M., the ferry would return, carrying the state evidence team he had requested to process the crime scene.
     
    Too late , he thought.
     
    The wind snatched at his notebook. He anchored the pages with one hand, glancing from his diagram of the scene to the heavy clouds above.
     
    Some small-town police chiefs were too proud or too dumb or too damn territorial to call in the State Criminal Division for anything less than homicide. Mainers liked to do for themselves, and cops used to dealing with petty thefts and traffic violations didn’t always realize how quickly a case could be lost