Love Can Be Murder

felt wet and sticky and she registered the fact that she might be smearing blood down the handrail. By the time she'd reached the first floor, she was minus a shoe, and she still hadn't encountered a live person.
    Judging from the empty great room, everyone had migrated to the pool. She lumbered forward, heedless of anything except getting to Beck or Carlotta...or even Sammy. The good news was that Beck and Carlotta were standing together by the edge of the pool with their backs to her. The bad news was they were restraining Hannah, who was kicking at a cowering man as if they were in a Ninja movie. The guests were crowded around, fascinated.
    At last the scream that had been caught in Jolie's throat erupted like a volcano, echoing off the surface of the aqua-colored water dotted with floating candles, reverberating around the glass-enclosed room. Every head pivoted her way. Beck took a half step in her direction.
    "Help!" she bellowed, running toward them as fast as she could considering she was wearing one shoe.
    The one shoe betrayed her. She hit a slick spot and skidded, flailing. A bewildered-looking Carlotta, who was closest, reached for her, and Hannah reached for Carlotta, and the next thing Jolie knew, she had entered the pool by way of a belly-flop chain.
    The good news was the bracing water cleared the fog from her head. The bad news was she'd fallen into the deep end and the heavy robe instantly soaked up ten times its weight in water. She struggled with the tie belt, but only managed to pull it tighter around her ribs. Meanwhile, Carlotta floated by, her eyes wide, her mouth open—not exactly the safest expression for being underwater. She was in trouble. Jolie grabbed Carlotta's leg and shoved her toward the side of the pool while trying to kick her own way to the surface.
    She yanked at the tie around her waist again and miraculously it loosened. She pushed her way out of the robe but it wrapped around her legs, immobilizing her, dragging her down. Red ribbons of blood colored the water around her—the wound on her hand had reopened. Panic clawed at her chest as she sank, and Jolie understood how Gary must have felt when he knew he was going to die. Petrified, helpless...remorseful.
    What had she done with her life, really? Would anyone care that she wasn't around? Drowning at a party that she'd crashed wasn't the way she'd hoped to make headlines. Her body jerked in preparation for taking a death breath.
    Suddenly two big arms came around her from behind and jerked her upward. She inhaled water to satisfy her lungs, but her body rebelled, bucking. The robe fell away, brushing her feet. Air bubbles rushed past her face, then her head broke the surface of the water. She coughed and sputtered, thrashing her arms like a windmill.
    "Relax," Beck said into her ear. "Don't fight me."
    He eased her over to the side of the pool. Wheezing, she blinked the ceiling of glass into view, acknowledged the hard muscle of his torso and legs pressing against hers. Her brain must have been deprived of oxygen for a tad longer than was healthy, because the thought struck her that if she hadn't just seen the dead body of her boyfriend and hadn't almost drowned, this might have been a nice moment.
    He boosted her up over the pool edge as if she weighed nothing and set her down next to Carlotta and Hannah, who were huddled miserably on the side of the pool like wet cats dressed in upmarket lingerie.
    "Are you okay?" Beck asked, looking up at her from the water, his hand on her knee. His breathing was labored, his wet hair falling over his dark eyes.
    She nodded, hugging herself in her transparent chemise. "Th–thank you."
    "You're bleeding," he said, pulling her hand toward him for a look.
    "It's not bad," she said between coughs. "Considering I could be dead right now."
    A full-body shiver seized her.
    "I'll get some blankets," he said, then hoisted himself up out of the pool. Once again she was struck by the inappropriateness of noticing the man's physique, but he was mesmerizing in blue cotton boxers molded by the water. She had wondered what he was wearing underneath the robe, but she hadn't planned on going to these lengths to find out.
    They had managed to turn the pool into an ocean—their splashing had extinguished most of the floating candles. Their robes and purses littered the bottom. Their wigs bobbed on the surface like dead animals. Speaking of dead, she needed to tell someone—everyone—about Gary. She