Free Diamond Bay by Linda Howard Page A

do with them? The shells and driftwood."
    She didn't like the way Agent Lowell was looking at her, as if he
didn't believe a word she said. "I sell them," she said, and it was
the truth. "I own two souvenir shops."
    "I see." He smiled at her. "Well, good luck in your
shell hunting." They turned to leave again.
    "Do you need a lift?" she asked, raising her voice.
"You look hot now, and it's going to get hotter."
    Both of them looked up at the blistering sun in the cloudless blue
bowl of the sky; their faces were shiny with perspiration. "We came by
boat," Agent Ellis said. "We're going to check along the beach some
more. Thanks, anyway."
    "Anytime. Oh, watch out if you go north. It gets
swampy."
    "Thanks again."
    She watched them disappear into the pines and down the slope, and
chills prickled her skin despite the heat. Slowly she returned to the porch and
sat down on the swing, automatically returning to the task of breaking the
beans. Everything
they had said swirled in her mind, and she tried to sort it all out, to get her thoughts in order again. FBI? It was possible, but they had flashed their badges so swiftly
she hadn't been able to examine them. They knew what he looked like, but they
didn't have any photographs of him; she thought it would be reasonable that the
FBI would have some likeness, even if it was just a drawing of someone they
were trying to find. And they had sidestepped the question when she asked what
he had done, as if they hadn't anticipated that and didn't know how to answer.
They had said he should be considered armed and dangerous, but instead he was
naked and helpless. Didn't they know he'd been shot? Why hadn't they said
something about that?
    But what if she were harboring a criminal? That had always been
one of the possibilities, though she had discounted it. Now it swarmed back
into her mind, and she felt sick.
    The beans were finished. She took the pan into the house and set
it in the sink, then returned to gather up the paper with the strings and
broken ends on it. As
she carried it to the kitchen to stuff it in the trash can she cast an
apprehensive look at her open bedroom door. She could just see the head of the bed and his black hair on the
pillow… her pillow. When he woke up again, and she looked into those night-black
eyes, would she be looking into the eyes of a criminal? A killer?
    Swiftly she washed her hands and flipped through the telephone
book, then punched the number. It rang only once before a harried male voice
said, "Sheriffs Department."
    "Andy Phelps, please."
    "Just a minute."
    There was another ring, but this time the answer was absentminded,
as if the person had other things on his mind. "Phelps."
    "Andy, this is Rachel."
    Immediately his voice warmed. "Hi, honey. Everything
okay?"
    "Fine. Hot, but fine. How are Trish and the kids?"
    "The kids are doing okay, but Trish is praying for school to
start."
    She laughed, sympathizing with Andy's wife. Their boys carried
rowdiness to new heights. "Listen, two guys just stopped by the house.
They walked up from the beach."
    His voice sharpened. "They give you any trouble?"
    "No, nothing like that. They said they were FBI, but I didn't
get a good look at their badges. They're looking for some man. Are they
legitimate? Has your department been notified of anything? I may be paranoid,
but I'm out here at the end of the road, and Rafferty's miles away. After
B.B…." Her voice trailed away with the sudden pain of the memory. It had
been five years, but there were still times when the loss and regret seared
her, when the emptiness got to her.
    Like no one else on earth, Andy understood. He had worked with
B.B. in the DEA. The memory roughened his tone. "I know. You can't be too
careful, honey. Look, we've had orders come down to cooperate with some guys
who are looking for a man. It's all hush-hush. They're not the local FBI
people. I doubt that they're FBI at all, but orders are orders."
    Rachel's hand tightened on the receiver.