Black Satin Page 4

  “Cole?” Her voice was tentative but carried easily through the screened windows.

  He uttered a succinct oath, then finished the beer before answering. “Yeah, be right there.”

  He slid open the door to the back deck and walked out. He didn’t offer her a hand, just stood there staring at her. Even in the waning moonlight he didn’t miss the thrust of her small chin as she moved to climb aboard. She walked to him with the grace and balance that told him she was as comfortable on water as she was on land. He recalled her comment about pulling in nets and found himself involuntarily wanting to know more about Kira Douglass.

  “I assume you didn’t invite me here to stare at me all night.”

  He levered away from the railing and took a step toward her. “And why do you think I asked you here?” He purposely kept his voice low and a bit rough.

  “Hopefully to talk about my proposition.”

  He grinned and took another step. “I don’t think anyone has ever gone to so much trouble to … proposition me before.”

  She took the tiniest of steps backward, then jerked to a stop as her back bumped against the railing. “Well, given your attitude, I’m surprised anyone bothers at all.”

  Before he could so much as lift an eyebrow in response, she said, “Is there somewhere we could sit and talk? I’m sure if you’ll just let me explain, you’ll understand why it’s so important.”

  He heard the tension and trace of desperation in her voice and felt a moment of regret for pushing her just now. But teasing Kira, watching her react, not knowing how she would, was too pleasurable to regret completely. And pleasure was a rare commodity in his life.

  He slid open the door to the main cabin, unsettled by the sudden desire to see her in his home, among his possessions. Meager as they were.

  She stepped quickly past him, and he got a quick whiff of her scent as her hair brushed against his chin. It was a small thing, that light, teasing scent, but unexpected after the smoky barroom. He liked it. He watched her unzip her yellow windbreaker and start to slide it off. Her shoulders were well toned and deeply tanned; the soft ribbed tank top she had on underneath did wonders for satisfying his earlier curiosity about what curves lay under the baggy surface. And oh, what curves they were. Small, but full, they’d be all silky resilience to his touch. Her crystalline gaze met his, and she quickly slipped her jacket back onto her shoulders. Her fingers hovered over the zipper, but she left it open.

  He clenched his hands into tight fists against the desire to stroke his fingers down the narrow woven ridges of fabric that clung so wonderfully to her breasts. Instead he turned to the kitchen. “Can I get you a beer?”

  “Um, no thanks. I have to drive the rest of the way back to Marathon tonight … this morning, I guess.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she intended to stay the night. No more teasing, he declared silently. Too dangerous. She was definitely not the type for hit-and-run sex. He cleared his throat. “Water?”

  “Yes, that would be great. Thank you.”

  So polite, he thought, and smiled to himself as he stepped into the small kitchen and pulled the gallon jug of spring water out of the fridge. He dropped a few ice cubes in some glasses, filled them, and went back to her. He handed her a glass, then settled on a stool in front of the small rattan bar, resting his elbows behind him and propping his booted feet on the small cluttered coffee table positioned between him and the couch she was sitting on. “Perched” was actually a better word.

  “Why haven’t you called the police?”

  Kira gulped and took a small sip of her water, praying it would slide past the knot in her throat. He didn’t waste any time. Sitting up straight, she told herself that it was just as well. The sooner she got him to agree to help, the better. As it was, she wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight anyway. An image of Cole’s lazy smile and the sound of his deep voice floating to her in the darkness flashed through her mind, and she wondered if sleepless nights would plague her for some time to come.

  “I run a private institute that provides help to people, mostly children, with emotional and physical disabilities. Some of them are autistic, some have Down’s syndrome, others may have cerebral palsy, learning disorders, or may be recuperating from major injuries. I get all my funding from private groups.”

  She took another sip and paused, but he remained thankfully silent. “In a little over one week, I’m having a sort of open house for a variety of investors that have in some way expressed interest in funding what we do. The school is very costly to run, and because our programs are still considered experimental from a scientific viewpoint, we have to rely solely on their support to keep it operating. Many of our supporters are initially drawn to us by local and national media coverage of some of our unique methods.”

  “And if word leaked out that one of the students in your care had turned up missing, you’d lose the supporters.”

  She breathed a small sigh of relief. Maybe, just maybe, getting him involved would be easier than she thought. “More or less, yes.”

  “I still don’t understand the urgency.” When she started to speak, he raised his hand to silence her. “I know you don’t want the kid out there wandering around. But if the investors don’t know about the missing boy, then why can’t they just come and view the school and leave none the wiser? In the mean-time hire a private investigator who will discreetly search for the boy.”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

  He’d apparently sensed her apprehension, because he let his feet thunk to the floor and bent over to rest his elbows on his knees. “Well, then, why don’t you just get to the point,” he said quietly, his expression making it clear he wouldn’t be pushed any further. “You know where he is, don’t you?”

  “I, uh …” His eyes were so black and so focused on her, she had a hard time stringing words together. Lord, but the man was intense. “Yes. I know where P.J. is,” she answered. “But I need your help to get him back.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s being held on an estate on a privately owned key located on the Gulf side between Ramrod and Summerland,” she answered, referring to an area a few miles south of No Name.

  Cole’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she automatically leaned back against the cushions of the couch.

  “This wouldn’t by any chance be a custody battle?”

  “No. It’s kidnapping, and I want him back.” She raised her hand to cut off his attempt to speak. “Police or detectives are out of the question. No one can know.”

  Cole scratched the back of his neck and put his empty glass on the bar. With deceptive calm he stood and walked around the small table, using his towering advantage over her to its fullest potential. She was going to have to get it through her head that he wasn’t a man to play games with.

  In a too soft voice he said, “Once, a long time ago, I made the mistake of not listening to my instincts. Trust me when I tell you that the result was ugly. I vowed never to make that mistake again.” He bent over and rested one hand on the back of the sofa, bringing his face within inches of hers. “My instincts are telling me that something’s real wrong with your story. You’re either lying or not telling me the whole deal. Either way, sweet lips, you’ve got about thirty seconds to correct that or find someone else to help you.”

  The dark stubble sandpapering his jaw looked as rough as his voice was against her nerves. “If I tell you everything, will you help me rescue P.J.?”

  He stared intently into her eyes, as if trying to solve some mysterious puzzle. “You aren’t in a position to bargain.”

  His lips curved, and she doubted the positions he was thinking about had anything to do with rescuing dolphins.

  “Twenty seconds and counting, Kira.”

  Kira. The way he said her name sent tiny jolts of awareness throughout her entire body. The way he looked at her sent giant jolts to her brain. The unholy gleam that lit the depths of his bl
ack eyes told her she hadn’t been too successful in hiding that reaction. Cole Sinclair wanted her. And the mere thought that a man like Cole could desire her was strangely empowering.

  Would he help if he thought it would get him something he wanted? Namely her. In bed. Or, gauging from the taut line of his jaw, possibly right here on the couch. The image of them twined together, his big hands all over her, his lips pressed against her feverish skin, seared her brain, and she fidgeted restlessly as she fought against them. No. Stupid idea. She’d never survive something like that. Better to keep this all business.

  “Ten seconds.”

  She didn’t have a choice. Before she could explain the rest, he had to know. “P.J. isn’t a child.” That threw him, but at least he didn’t look angry.

  “Why doesn’t this surprise me?” he asked the ceiling. To her, he said, “Okay, I give up. If P.J. isn’t a kid, just exactly what are you asking me to help you rescue?”

  “A dolphin.”

  Cole sank down on the couch next to her. “You want me to rescue a fish?”

  Kira struggled to keep her patience in check. She’d known this wasn’t going to be easy, and it was crucial that he understand. “Dolphins aren’t fish, they’re mammals,” she began. “You’d have to see them, be with them, to understand the amazing abilities they have.” She paused. Maybe there was hope. He wasn’t tossing her overboard, anyway. Of course, the night wasn’t over yet.

  “What do dolphins have to do with your school?”

  She smiled. His question seemed sincere. She just might pull this off. “Our institute is different from others. There are several other dolphin centers in the Keys. But while all of them have some class time set aside for disabled kids, most have to rely on a heavy tourist trade to support the other work and research they do. Dr. Dolphin—that’s the name of our institute—is aimed solely at helping children, and some adults, overcome their individual disabilities.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that the dolphins help heal the kids?” His tone made it clear that he thought her claims were at best only slightly unbalanced. “It’s no wonder you’re hard up for investors.”

  “Cole, if you could only see it. Autistic children who have been completely unreachable respond to dolphins in amazing ways. The dolphins seem to sense the neediness in the kids. The connection is awe-inspiring.”

  “I’d think if this is as great as you say it is, money would be pouring in.”

  “It’s not that easy. While much research has been done with dolphins privately in the last decade, their work with the disabled is still considered very experimental. We still don’t know exactly why it works so well, just that it does. Much of our time and a good chunk of our resources are spent trying to convince investors we’re not quacks.”

  Cole nodded. She understood; most people were skeptical at first and needed time to absorb it all. Unfortunately, time was the one thing she didn’t have. “I know if you saw them, swam with them, you’d understand.”

  “If you have some crazy idea of getting me to—”

  She broke in. “I have no doubt I could make you a firm believer in less than an hour,” she said steadily. “But I don’t care what you believe as long as you agree to help. Our program will allow a large group of people who have shown an interest in contributing to come to the school. We’ll give them a mini-course in dolphin education and let them sit in on several of our classes in action, as well as talk with some of our therapists and psychologists about their patients and the progress they’ve made.”

  “This is one week from now?”

  “Nine days. I have to get P.J. back by then. He’s been with me the longest and is the one most often profiled by the media. He works with the toughest kids and doesn’t seem to mind being the focus of a lot of attention. A large number of potential investors are coming specifically to see him.”

  “But you have other dolphins?”

  “Yes.”

  Cole studied her carefully for a moment, then reached out and tilted her chin toward him. “There’s something else you’re not telling me. What is it?”

  His touch made it hard to think. “Male dolphins sometimes form very strong attachments to other males. Some pairs become virtually inseparable for years, some for life.”

  “I take it P.J. has a buddy.”

  She nodded. “Rio. He’s suffering tremendously. He doesn’t eat and hardly communicates with the other dolphins. When he does talk, he just calls P.J.’s name. I can only imagine what P.J.’s going through.”

  Cole stood up. “Whoa, lady. Now you’re trying to tell me they talk?”

  She tried to explain. “You’ve heard dolphins click and whistle, right? Remember Flipper?”

  “Yeah, yeah. So?”

  “Well, each dolphin has a distinct signature whistle, like a name. Other dolphins will call them out when they want to get that particular dolphin’s attention.”

  “And you can understand the whistles?” He sounded skeptical.

  Kira sighed. “We’ve spent years documenting and recording all aspects of our group. So, yes, the signature whistles are all on file, so to speak. And we’ve been able to determine whose is whose. Actually, I’m glad you asked, because it’s intrinsic to my plan to get P.J. back.”

  Cole remained silent for a moment. “I need a beer. Want one?”

  “No thanks.” She sank back against the cushions. Her muscles were beginning to spasm from the torture she’d put them through this evening. But she sensed she was gaining ground. And for that she’d gladly tie herself in knots.

  Kira took advantage of his absence and scanned his living quarters. Having grown up on the Gulf Coast, she’d spent some time on several houseboats. Even in the dark, she’d been able to tell that Cole’s was a custom model. It was much wider than most, very upscale. That had surprised her—until she considered his previous profession might have included perks like this.

  But the inside looked more like what she’d expected a man who played sax at Repo’s would own. It looked as if he’d gutted the thing, then never gotten around to remodeling it. There was the small woven couch she was sitting on, a short bar with two stools, the coffee table, and a well-worn easy chair over in the corner with a wall-mounted lamp angled strategically to the side.

  Aside from the doors leading to the deck, there was a folding door to her right and one straight ahead. Since she knew that one led to the kitchen area and presumably the front of the boat, she assumed the other led to his bedroom. She immediately wondered what it looked like, what kind of bed he slept on. The resulting images made her quickly search for something else to study.

  She glanced around the main cabin again and realized why it seemed so stark. There was the standard bachelor clutter. Battered deck shoes heaped on the floor by the sliding door, the occasional empty beer bottle, and a few dog-eared copies of Life magazine. But there were no mementos. No photos, nothing personal placed anywhere. Not even a print adorned the walls. She noticed a scattering of holes in the wall as if someone had tried to hang a picture half a dozen times in the same spot. Odd.

  There was no television either, only a small stereo component system behind the bar. Either he didn’t spend much time here, or he found some other form of entertainment.

  Her gaze zoomed back to the bedroom door. Yes, she could easily picture the sort of entertainment Cole might indulge in to while away the daylight hours. A frown crossed her face.

  She yanked her gaze away. It fell on the easy chair in the opposite corner, and she saw that the wall behind the chair was actually a built-in bookcase. The shelves were packed, books crammed every which way in order to make room for them all. Apparently, he read a lot.

  Curious about what books would attract a man like Cole, she stood up, planning to investigate. But hearing his booted feet on the floor, she forced herself to sit back down.

  “What happens if you don’t get him back?” he asked calmly as he strolled back in the room.


  Kira felt a sharp pull in the vicinity of her heart, and her curiosity was temporarily forgotten. “If P.J. is reacting like Rio, there is a very good possibility they will both die.”

  His expression didn’t change. “And your school?”

  “If we don’t get the funding, the school closes. As it is, most of the doctors and therapists volunteer their time, or are paid by their patients’ families. But the institute pays for my trainers and core staff, as well as the enormous cost of the care and maintenance of the dolphins and the facility.”

  Cole sat back on the stool and leaned against the bar. “Not to mention your salary.”

  “That is not—”

  He talked right over her outraged response. “So, you think the police are a bad move. Okay. But why me? Why not someone who knows something about dolphins?”

  “If that was all I needed, my staff and I could handle it. But the situation requires more than our skills if we are going to pull it off.”

  “This has to do with the running-the-boat-at-night deal you mentioned, I take it. Again, why me?”

  Kira nervously rubbed her hands up and down her thighs. “The man who kidnapped P.J. is very wealthy. I think he’s penned P.J. in a private cove on his island. I need someone who knows the area and can guide the boat through the reefs and around the keys in the dark without running aground. Or being noticed.”

  Cole’s eyes narrowed at the implication. He set his beer down and crossed the room to the couch. He stared down at her for a moment, then reached for her elbow to pull her up. There was a bare inch of space between them, but she didn’t avert her gaze or try to get him to release her. Damn, but the lady had guts. Or she was desperate. He silently acknowledged that many times one had much to do with the other.

  “And what exactly do you think I’ve done to gain that type of knowledge?” His tone was soft, but there was an unmistakable lethal edge to it.

  She took a breath, and he found his eyes drawn to the pulsing skin on her neck. Just when he thought she wouldn’t answer him, she said quietly, “I think you used to be a smuggler.”