Hurricane Bay Read Online Free PDF Page B

ready to go back to work on Monday morning.
    But he’d always thought he was her friend. They’d had their occasional thing together, even after their passionate breakup way back when. But not in the last few years. Not since he’d finished his military obligations, settled in the St. Augustine area, opened Whitelaw Investigations…and fallen in love with Kathy Malkovich.
    He’d seen Sheila a few times since he’d retreated back home. Only with other friends, mostly, or sitting around the bar. She’d even shown up at his place once with Nate when they’d made a major dolphin fish haul a few weeks back and barbecued it on the grill at his place. Because of their past history, people were making more of it than it had been.
    Nate had talked about Sheila’s current activities, then cut himself off, remembering that she and Dane had once been more than friends. The usual guy talk had sounded too coarse, even for Nate.
    So he should have known. Sheila had always been a flirt. And she was soundly of the opinion that most people fell out of love in life, and that some guys were good in bed and some guys weren’t, so going to bed with a man because he could offer her something was in no way a sin. Look at the jerks most women slept with because they thought they were in love, or thought the guy was decent, she always said.
    Sheila gave new meaning to the term “jaded.”
    That afternoon, though, just a week ago, he had really seen her in action for the first time. Seen her work her “magic” at the bar.
    So he was a little jaded himself. Not exactly sunk in despair, but then again, not ready to go out and tackle the world. And when he had watched Sheila, he’d experienced some strange sensations. Relief, for one. He was thankful they’d never gotten serious or—God forbid—married each other. He felt sorrow, too, remembering the kid she had been. And he had also felt a bit of disgust, wondering what the hell she was doing. There she was, a beautiful woman, doing things she didn’t need to do. She was young, with the world in front of her, and she had seemed to be on the path of self-destruction.
    Her sole purpose was apparent from the minute she climbed on a bar stool next to a guy. First there had been the middle-aged Hispanic man sporting the loud jewelry. Heavy gold chains had hung around his neck, and his fingers had been bedecked with gold and diamonds. Sheila had crawled atop a chair with a cigarette, asking for a light. They’d started talking, and he’d bought her a drink, but he hadn’t stayed long. There had been a woman waiting for him out on the patio. Before he’d left, however, Sheila had written something on a piece of paper and given it to him.
    Then there had been the younger guy, maybe twenty-five. His cutoffs had carried a designer label, and his sandals were straight from the pages of GQ. His T-shirt had sported a label, as well—not just designer but top designer. Even if he ever got as rich as Croesus, Dane couldn’t see spending that kind of money on a T-shirt.
    Sheila had been studying her drink when the young guy had walked in. She must have had some kind of natural radar, because she’d turned around immediately, seen her new quarry, squashed out her cigarette and knocked another out of the pack in front of her.
    They’d talked for a long time. And again Sheila had given him her number.
    No one had appealed to Sheila after that. She’d noticed Dane at the back of the bar by then. She might have colored just a little, seeing him there. Then she’d tossed her long dark hair and come over.
    â€œSo…it’s the long-lost home boy nursing his woes at the shanty bar, huh?”
    â€œHi, Sheila.”
    She’d lit her own cigarette then and tapped her matches on the bar.
    â€œSee, old flame, men do still find me attractive,” she’d said softly.
    â€œSheila, you’re