voice was an echo in his head. A ghostly reproach.
He didn’t need to keep hearing it. He’d already damned himself a hundred times over.
He’d been sitting here that night, just as he was now, the last time he’d seen Sheila arrive at Hurricane Bay.
But before that…
Would things have been different if he hadn’t seen her in action just that day?
He’d been at the Sea Shanty just before she had come over. He’d been drinking soda water with lime, discussing surveillance cameras with Nate. Nothing big had happened. Nate thought that maybe one of his bartenders had decided he wasn’t quite making it on tips and was helping himself to the till. Dane didn’t intend to work for Nate, and he had no intention of charging for the advice he gave. Sheila had been there, too. She came almost every afternoon at about five.
She never bought her own drinks.
Maybe she hadn’t known he was there. Maybe she had known and hadn’t cared. Once upon a time, way back when, he and Sheila had been something of a twosome. But he had to admit, he’d never been in love with her. From the time he had been a little kid, he’d had a path in mind for himself, a plan for his life. A lot of that had come from Mr. Cunningham and Joe, but whatever the reason, his future had been the burning essence in his mind.
He hadn’t wanted to wind up a fisherman in Key Largo, hoping for a catch, dodging the tourists, sucking up to the tourists, watching restaurant managers come and go.
If anything, he’d been determined he was going to own the restaurants.
And Sheila…
Well, at one time she might have loved him in her way. But she’d been just as intent on her own path. She’d wanted out. And getting out had meant more to Sheila than attaching herself to a man with no specific prospects, even if he had ambition. She’d spent her high school years sizing up the tourists and the weekenders—Floridians who usually lived fairly close to Key Largo, where they kept condos or vacation homes, and left their prestigious jobs in the city on Friday after work and returned Sunday night, 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.
“So…it’s the long-lost home boy nursing his woes at the shanty bar, huh?”
“Hi, Sheila.”
She’d lit her own cigarette then and tapped her matches on the bar.
“See, old flame, men do still find me attractive,” she’d said softly.
“Sheila, you’re beautiful, and you know it.”
That had brought a smile to her lips. “But it isn’t enough, is it?”
He remembered lifting his hands with a certain aggravation. “It depends on what you want. What the hell are you doing?”
She looked at him. “Do you remember when you liked me, Dane?”
“Sheila, I still like you. You’re a friend.”
That brought another smile. “You never loved me.”
That seemed out of the blue. “You never loved me.”
She looked ahead. “We both wanted to get out, and here we are again. You loved her, though, huh? That woman in St. Augustine.”
He didn’t answer because she didn’t allow him to, rushing back in. “What’s wrong with me, Dane?”
“Sheila, there’s nothing wrong with you. We just didn’t have the commitment, the shared interests, the right whatever.”
She shook her head, staring ahead. “I couldn’t stay with Larry, either. Why not? I should have. It’s like I’m always looking for…I don’t know.” She stared at him. “Hey, want to sleep with me?”
“Sheila—”
