Risky Business

a sudden, fierce memory of a knife probing against her throat. “He didn’t tell me anything. I don’t know anything.” Before she could evade, he had her backed into a corner. “If I scream,” she managed in a steady voice, “there’ll be a crowd of people here before you can take a breath.”
    “No need to scream.” He held up both hands as if to show her he meant no harm. “This is a business discussion. All I want to know is how much Jerry told you before he made the mistake of offending the wrong people.”
    When she discovered she was trembling, Liz forced herself to stop. He wouldn’t intimidate her. What weapon could he hide in a pair of bathing trunks and an open shirt? She straightened her shoulders and looked him directly in the eye. “Jerry didn’t tell me anything. I said the same thing to your friend when he had the knife at my throat. It didn’t satisfy him, so he put a damaged gauge on my tanks.”
    “My partner doesn’t understand much about finesse,” Scott said easily. “I don’t carry knives, and I don’t know enough about your diving equipment to mess with the gauges. What I know about is you, and I know plenty. You work too hard, Liz, getting up at dawn and hustling until sundown. I’m justtrying to give you some options. Business, Liz. We’re just going to talk business.”
    It was his calm, reasonable attitude that had her temper whipping out. He could be calm, he could be reasonable, and people were dead. “I’m not Jerry and I’m not Erika, so keep that in mind. I don’t know anything about the filthy business you’re into, but the police do, and they’ll know more. If you think you can frighten me by threatening me with a knife or damaging my equipment, you’re right. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing every one of you to hell. Now get out of my shop and leave me alone.”
    He studied her face for a long ten seconds, then backed an inch or two away. “You’ve got me wrong, Liz. I said this was a business discussion. With Jerry gone, an experienced diver would come in handy, especially one who knows the waters around here. I’m authorized to offer you five thousand dollars. Five thousand American dollars for doing what you do best. Diving. You go down, drop off one package and pick up another. No names, no faces. Bring the package back to me unopened and I hand you five thousand in cash. Once or twice a week, and you can build up a nice little nest egg. I’d say a woman raising a kid alone could use some extra money.”
    Fear had passed into fury; she clenched her hands together. “I told you to get out,” she repeated. “I don’t want your money.”
    He smiled and touched a finger to her cheek. “Give it some thought. I’ll be around if you change your mind.”
    Liz waited for her breathing to level as she watched him walk away. With deliberate movements, she locked the shop, then walked directly to her police guard. “I’m going home,” she told him as he sprang to attention. “Tell Captain Moralas to meet me there in half an hour.” Without waiting for a reply, she strode across the sand.
     
    Fifteen minutes later, Liz slammed into her house. The ride home hadn’t calmed her. At every turn she’d been violated. At every turn, her privacy and peace had been disrupted. This last incident was the last she’d accept. She might have been able to handle another threat, another demand. But he’d offered her a job. Offered to pay her to smuggle cocaine, to take over the position of a man who’d been murdered. Jonas’s brother.
    A nightmare, Liz thought as she paced from window to window. She wished she could believe it was a nightmare. The cycle was drawing to a close, and she felt herself being trapped in the center. What Jerry Sharpe had started, she and Jonas would be forced to finish, no matter how painful. No matter how deadly. Finish it she would, Liz promised herself. The cycle would be broken, no matter what she had to do. She would be finished with it so her daughter could come home safely. Whatever she had to do, she would see to that.
    At the sound of a car approaching, Liz went to the front window. Jonas, she thought, and felt her heart sink. Did she tell him now that she’d met face-to-face with the man who might have killed his brother? If he had the name, if he knew the man, would he race off in a rage for the revenge he’d come so far to find? And if he found his revenge, could the cycle ever be broken? Instead, she was