Murder Deja Vu

turned her attention to the others.
    Nice. At least she didn’t smirk.
    The four exchanged a few words, then the boys gestured to their lifeguard stations. She noted the sites, nodded, and flashed a smile that even from a distance added a few more rays to a sunny day.
    Yeah, all she has to do is crook her little finger in their direction, and they’ll come a’running to carry out the pretty lady’s wishes. Good luck, guys. It’ll be a cold day in hell before you hook up with a woman like that. The boys’ naïve optimism reminded him of his own youth, a lifetime ago.
    Tawny settled into the low-slung chair, stretching her long, shapely legs and burrowing her feet in the sand.
    Hmm, what I’d like to do with those legs. And those―stop it, Linc .
    Digging into her canvas tote, she pulled out a bottle of suntan lotion and drizzled it into her palm, rubbing—no, massaging—the glossy oil in long, languid strokes. Up and down her legs. Around her shoulders and arms. And on her glorious chest. Watching her slow, deliberate movements shot erotic impulses to Linc’s groin. When she finished, she dropped the bottle in the bag, opened a paperback, and settled in. Linc took a deep breath and mentally slapped himself back to reality. Talk about a boner. Down, boy.
    He scanned her audience. If she was aware of the admiring gawkers, she didn’t let on. Every male within a hundred-foot radius locked onto her like lasers. Women, too, albeit for different reasons. Where the women scowled disapprovingly, the men radiated unabashed appreciation. Beauty was definitely in the eye of the beholder.
    The reaction of both sexes centered on the skimpy bikini that left nothing to the imagination. The amount of shiny, copper-colored fabric wouldn’t conceal a postage stamp, and it sure didn’t cover a body worth a hell of a lot more than the going postal rate. Hundreds of thousands of dollars more, according to a snitch.
    The captain, cooperating with Treasury, decided Tawny Dell could be useful, and it was Linc’s job to enlist her. If she accepted, his division might just solve a murder and close down a string of sex clubs at the same time. If she refused, the IRS would nail her for tax evasion.
    Linc couldn’t wrench his eyes off her. The woman personified every cliché that defined beauty. No wonder men paid so much money to sleep with her. She was every man’s wet dream. Even though word surfaced that Tawny had hung up her G-string, she still could play in the major leagues—if she wanted to. But business was business. He needed to concentrate on his job. He tossed the binoculars on the car seat and bit back his lust.
    After locking his shoulder holster and gun in the glove compartment, he got out of the car. Wearing a suit on the beach looked suspicious enough, but a bulge under his jacket would garner unwanted attention. He wished he’d checked into a hotel to change, but he didn’t have time. He tossed his jacket over the binoculars, stripped off his tie, and unbuttoned his shirt collar. Rolling up his sleeves helped him look less like a cop but more like a dork, traipsing in the sand with shoes on.
    The day was South Carolina perfect: azure sky, beach breeze steady enough to keep the sun worshippers from dissolving. Snagging one of the hotel chairs, he started toward his target. Within a few seconds, one of Tawny’s worshiping trio, a cinnamon-toasted kid with hair like summer straw flopping over his eyes, barred his way.
    “Um, you can’t take a chair if you’re not registered here,” he said, clearly uncomfortable with confrontation. “What’s, um, your room number?”
    The kid backed off after Linc flipped open a small leather case and flashed his badge. He palmed the teen a fiver and received a toothy grin in return. Linc resumed his mission, dragging the chair through the sand until he set it down beside Tawny Dell.
    She regarded him with neither curiosity nor annoyance. This woman was accustomed to men hitting on her. In the real world of high-priced call girls, a man needed references to contract an hour’s time with this masterpiece. He had a better shot if he hired her to accompany him on exotic vacations for weekends or longer, far from his wife and kids. A trip like that could set back a salivating customer five or six figures, understood and paid at the end of their arrangement. Only a few women reached that lofty level. Tawny was one of them.
    Because she worked independently and strictly on