She made a sound that might have been a laugh as she pulled out a form. “I should’ve guessed. I knew someone studying law once.” She thought of Marcus with his glib, calculating tongue. “He always got what he wanted, too. Sign here. We leave at eight,” she said briskly. “The price includes a lunch on board. If you want beer or liquor, you bring your own. The sun’s pretty intense on the water, so you’d better buy some sun-screen.” She glanced beyond him. “One of my dive boats is coming back. You’ll have to excuse me.”

“Miss Palmer…” He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to her, or why he was uncomfortable having completed a successful maneuver. In the end, he pocketed his receipt. “If you change your mind about dinner—”

“I won’t.”

“I’m at the El Presidente.”

“An excellent choice.” She walked through the doorway and onto the dock to wait for her crew and clients.

* * *

By seven-fifteen, the sun was up and already burning off a low ground mist. What clouds there were, were thin and shaggy and good-natured.

“Damn!” Liz kicked the starter on her motorbike and turned in a little U toward the street. She’d been hoping for rain.

He was going to try to get her involved. Even now, Liz could imagine those dark, patient gray eyes staring into hers, hear the quietly insistent voice. Jonas Sharpe was the kind of man who took no for an answer but was dogged enough to wait however long it took for the yes. Under other circumstances, she’d have admired that. Being stubborn had helped her start and succeed in a business when so many people had shaken their heads and warned her against it. But she couldn’t afford to admire Jonas Sharpe. Budgeting her feelings was every bit as important as budgeting her accounts.

She couldn’t help him, Liz thought again, as the soft air began to play around her face. Everything she’d known about Jerry had been said at least twice. Of course she was sorry, and had grieved a bit herself for a man she’d hardly known, but murder was a police matter. Jonas Sharpe was out of his element.

She was in hers, Liz thought as her muscles began to relax with the ride. The street was bumpy, patched in a good many places. She knew when to weave and sway. There were houses along the street with deep green grass and trailing vines. Already clothes were waving out on lines. She could hear an early newscast buzzing through someone’s open window and the sound of children finishing chores or breakfast before school. She turned a corner and kept her speed steady.