“Think you’d better blow up the bed,” Dar whispered in her ear.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Dar replied. “’Cause I need to take care of those chills.
Don’t want you catching cold.”
Kerry rested a hand on Dar’s hip. “Sweetie, you’re the one causing the chills.” She ducked her head and nipped at Dar’s breast.
“And because it’s the only furniture in the place,” Dar teased.
“I figure we can inaugurate that spa tub, then have dinner in bed.”
“Or dinner and bed,” Kerry replied, her eyes twinkling.
“Sounds great to me either way.” She kissed Dar again, then nudged her belly. “You go, I’ll blow.”
Both of Dar’s eyebrows hiked up.
“Careful, they’ll stick like that.” Kerry reached up and yanked an eyebrow down. “Wouldn’t you look silly?”
Dar stuck out her tongue. “You’re in a mood,” she remarked. “I like it.” She gave Kerry a tickle across her ribs, then headed down the hallway to what they thought of as the back door to the cabin.
It was, of course, the front door, but since they tended to arrive by boat, they didn’t often enter that way. Dar passed the small utility room with its unused connections for the washer and dryer that hadn’t been delivered yet, and entered the plain open space near the outer door to the cabin. She turned the lock and let herself out, then closed the door behind her.
They had put a porch in front too, but smaller than the one that faced the water. It was surrounded by a sturdy wooden flower box that was hip high on Dar, and there was a gate flanked by two wrought iron, coach-type lights. Dar opened the gate and walked through, heading along the neat, rock-defined path up to the road.
The yard was more sand and scrub than grass, typical of the Keys, and was bordered by a Chinese cherry hedge. Dar broke into a jog as she passed it, then ran lightly down the road towards the small, what Kerry called “charmingly rustic” market just at the next crossroads.
She made the trip without bumping into another soul until she pushed open the door to the market and walked inside. The shop had well-stocked shelves, a respectable collection of fresh fruits and vegetables, and best of all, a very fresh seafood counter in the back.
Dar headed for it, then examined the choices laid out on ice in the cold case.
“Well, hello there, young lady.”
The cheerful voice almost made her jump. Dar looked up to see the owner standing behind the fish case, wiping his hands on a Terrors of the High Seas 11
towel. “Evening.”
“Got some great looking crabs today.”
Dar’s eyes twinkled. “Not today, thanks. Gimme a pound of the shrimp and two of the tails.” She watched contentedly as the man wrapped up the chilled, already cooked seafood. “Thanks.” She accepted the package and went toward the dairy case, not really paying attention when the market door opened.
“Hey, mister.”
Aware that the salutation didn’t include her, Dar studied her choices in milk, cocking half an ear behind her mostly because the rough voice that had spoken had set off her trouble sonar.
“What can I do for you?” the market owner replied.
“Got any shotgun shells?”
After a moment’s pause, the owner chuckled. “Son, this is a grocery, not a Sportsman’s Paradise,” he said. “We don’t sell no guns here.”
“Aw, man, you mean I gotta go up to the Wal-Mart? That sucks!
Why don’t you get them stuff here? You got all kinds of other crap!”
“Well, you gotta get a license, for one thing—”
“So? Go get one!” The voice was getting belligerent. “You’re supposed to get what people need, right?”
Dar set her package down and replaced the sugar she’d been considering; then she circled the row of canned goods and examined the noisy newcomer. It was, as she’d suspected, a boy in his late teens, dressed in an NRA T-shirt and jeans with patches consisting of Confederate flags. “Oh, look,” Dar muttered under her breath. “Walking stereotype. Wonder where his pickup’s parked.”
“So get off yer ass and get us some service here!” the boy demanded.
“Now, look, son—”
“Don’t you call me that, you old jackass!”
Dar walked over. “Excuse me.”
The boy turned, irritation switching to lechery in the blink of a hormone as his eyes took in Dar’s suntanned, mostly exposed body.
“Hey, baby! What c’n I do for ya?”
Detecting fermented malt, Dar’s nose twitched. “Stop breathing.”
He blinked. “Huh?”
Dar abandoned that tack. “You go to the hardware store for bread?”
“Naw.”
“So why come here for gun supplies?”
The boy didn’t seem to mind the questions, his eyes busy taking in Dar’s athletic form. “’Cause it’s closer’n hauling my ass 12 Melissa Good up the road to the Wal-Mart.” He grinned suddenly. “You wanna ride in my truck?”
“No,” Dar replied. “What are you shooting?”
“Huh?”
“You’re buying shotgun shells.”
“Yeah?”
“What are you going to shoot them at?”
“Signs,” the boy replied amiably. “Or them little deers, or whatever.”
Dar frowned. “For what?”
“Fer fun,” the boy said. “You wanna come? I got me a box of shells. Just wanted some more in case I find me some ’gators or something. You up fer some fun, baby?”
Dar stared at him for a moment, then felt the wash of adrenaline and anger sweep through her. “Sure.” She grinned. “I love fun.” She moved in a blur, drawing her right hand back and cocking it, then letting loose and cracking the now really smirking boy across the chops. He spun away from her and fell over a stack of beer cases, slamming his head against the doorpost.
“That was fun.” Dar stalked after him intently. “C’mere, you brainless little punk.” She grabbed him and yanked him to his feet, shoving him against the wall. “You think hurting animals is funny?
I think this is funny.” She nailed him in the groin with her knee, then tossed him against the door.
“Hey! Hey!” The boy scrambled to his feet. “Ow! Son of a bitch!
Ow!” He bolted for the door, a trail of blood from his nose left behind him, and got through it an instant before Dar could latch onto him. He raced for the pickup parked outside and jumped in, started the engine, and roared off while Dar glared at him from the doorway.
She waited for the taillights to disappear around the first bend, then stepped back inside the store and dusted off her hands, shaking her head in disgust. “Another fine example of why stupid humans shouldn’t breed.”
The grocer was laughing as Dar walked back over. “Ma’am, I think you made an impression on that kid.”
Dar retrieved her package and her sugar, then added a few other things before she plunked it all down on the counter and dug out her wallet. “You get much of that here?”
“Not a lot.” The owner rang up her purchases. “You new in the area…” He glanced at the credit card Dar handed him. “Ms.
Roberts? Thought I’d seen you around once or twice.”
Dar leaned against the counter. “Not exactly,” she allowed. “I grew up on the Navy base, but I’ve been living up in Miami for a while. Bought the old Potter place last year.”
He looked up at her, honestly surprised. “You did?” His Terrors of the High Seas 13
interest was kindled. “Now, I was hearing some big-shot computer executive bought that place.”
Dar tipped her sunglasses down and cool blue eyes regarded him with some amusement. “That would be me.”