Free Diamond Bay by Linda Howard

Diamond Bay.
    Two men were coming out of the thicket.
    Rachel continued to string and snap the beans as if she were
totally unconcerned, but she felt every muscle in her body tense. She stared at
them, openly, deciding that that would be the normal thing to do. They were
dressed casually, in lightweight cotton canvas pants and pullover shirts, with
loose cotton jackets. Rachel eyed the jackets. The temperature was ninety-nine
degrees and it wasn't quite noon yet, so it promised to get hotter. Jackets
were anything but practical – unless they were needed to hide shoulder
holsters.
    As the men crossed the road and approached the house Joe's growls
became snarls, and he crouched, the hair along his neck lifted. The men halted,
and Rachel caught the movement one man made beneath his jacket before he halted
himself. "Sorry about that," she called, leisurely putting aside the
beans and getting to her feet. "Joe doesn't like strangers in general, and
men in particular. He won't even let the neighbor in the yard. Guess some man
abused him once. Are you lost, or has your boat quit on you?" As she talked she came down the
steps and laid a calming hand on Joe's back, feeling the way he shifted a
little away from her.
    "Neither. We're looking for someone." The man who
answered her was tall and good-looking, with sandy brown hair and an open,
college-boy smile that flashed whitely in his tanned face. He glanced down at
Joe. "Uh, do you want to get a better hold on the dog?"
    "He'll be all right, as long as you don't come any nearer to
the house." Rachel hoped that was true. Giving Joe another pat, she walked
past him and approached the men. "I don't think it's me he's protecting as much as his territory. Now what was it you said?"
    The other man was shorter, slimmer and darker than Mr.
All-American College Boy. "FBI," he said briskly, flashing a badge in
front of her nose. "I'm Agent Lowell. This is Agent Ellis. We're looking
for a man we think might be in this area."
    Rachel wrinkled her forehead,
praying she wasn't overdoing it. "An escaped
convict?"
    Agent Ellis's gaze had been appreciatively measuring Rachel's
long, bare legs, but now his eyes lifted to her face. "No, but prison is
where we're trying to put him. We think he may have come ashore somewhere in
this area."
    "Haven't seen any strangers around here, but I'll keep a
sharp watch. What does he look like?"
    "Six feet tall, maybe a little taller. Black hair, black
eyes."
    "Seminole?"
    Both men looked startled. "No, he's not an Indian,"
Agent Lowell finally said. "But he's dark, sort of Indian-looking."
    "Do you have a picture of him?"
    A quick look passed between the two men. "No."
    "Is he dangerous? I mean, a murderer, or anything like
that?" A lump had formed in her chest and was rising toward her throat.
What would she do if they told her he was a murderer? How could she bear it?
    Again that look, as if they weren't sure what to tell her.
"He should be considered armed and dangerous. If you see anything at all
suspicious give us a call at this number." Agent Lowell scribbled a
telephone number on a piece of paper and gave it to Rachel, who glanced at it
before folding it and putting it in her pocket.
    "I'll do that," she said. "Thank you for coming
by."
    They started to leave; then Agent Lowell paused and turned back to
her, his eyes narrowed. "There are some strange marks on the beach down
there, as if something has been dragged. Do you know anything about them?"
    Rachel's blood froze in her veins. Fool! she told herself numbly. She should have gone down to the
beach and obliterated all those marks. At least
the tide would have washed away any blood and other signs that had been left
where he had fallen. Deliberately she wrinkled her forehead, giving herself
time to think, then let her face clear. "Oh, you must mean where I collect
shells and driftwood. I pile them all on a tarp and haul it up here. That way I
can get it all up the slope with just one trip."
    "What do you