Sonny smiled, because he sounded serious. “I’ll give you back your pants, but I need to borrow your sweater, if you don’t mind. Mine got swept away.”
“Keep it,” he replied absently.
Since his sweatshirt covered her to midthigh, and he wasn’t looking anyway, Sonny dropped trou right there on the beach, stepping out of his jeans and into her own. By the time she zipped up, he was looking. She folded his jeans and returned them, still warm from her body, finding something unbearably intimate about the gesture.
They stared at each other for a long, awkward moment, the pounding of the surf the only sound in the dead of night. Then her cell phone rang, breaking the mood, and she was so flustered that she almost said, “Vasquez,” ruining her cover.
“Hello?” she answered instead.
“Sonny?”
“Yeah, it’s Summer,” she said, in case Ben had radar hearing, and tipping Grant off she wasn’t alone.
“What the hell were you doing? I was worried.”
“I’ll call you later,” she said, clicking her phone shut and pocketing it.
“Who was that? Your boyfriend?”
“My boss,” she said, surprised by the invasive question. “He can be a nuisance.”
“Want me to take care of him for you?” he teased.
She studied his broad shoulders, his athletic musculature. She could take him down in less than three seconds. “I can take care of myself.”
The hint wasn’t subtle, so he would have no trouble picking it up. Still, he made no closing remark.
She stuck out her hand.
He accepted it, but instead of giving her a polite handshake, he held on to her, as if he wanted to keep her. “Let me take you out to dinner. To thank you properly.”
She pulled on her hand, but he held fast. “Are you asking me out?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He frowned, giving her the impression he was unaccustomed to rejection, and found it less palatable than he’d imagined. “What if Carly comes along? She loves to enumerate my flaws. You’ll be in no danger of liking me.”
She doubted it, but considered the invitation, if only to get her hand back. He radiated warmth, and at his touch, her body felt alive from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She’d underestimated him, mistaken his laid-back attitude for congeniality. In the water, his movements were so graceful as to appear effortless. On land, he was just as smooth.
If he were any more intent on seduction, she’d be flat on her back.
Sonny would have to tread lightly. Grant wanted her to spy on Ben, not moon over him like a silly schoolgirl. He’d also be furious if she refused to foster this acquaintance.
“Someplace casual?” she asked.
He smiled, taking that as a yes. “What’s your address? I’ll pick you up.”
“No, I’ll walk over.”
He let her have that one. “Five-ish? We eat early.”
She nodded, and he released her hand.
“Tomorrow night, then.”
Sitting down on the sand, she put on her shoes, waiting until he was out of sight to retrieve her SIG.
It wasn’t until she was safely ensconced in her apartment across the street that she placed a hand over her racing heart. It was beating fast and hard beneath her palm. Swallowing dryly, she closed her eyes and rested her back against the door, breathless with anticipation.
CHAPTER 3
Ben met John Thomas Carver at the rock wall on the south side of Windansea Beach.
“Merry Christmas,” he muttered, tossing him half a joint.
JT caught it midair. He’d always had quick reflexes. “Whoa-ho,” he said, opening his palm. “What’s this?”
“A little holiday cheer.”
Ben’s former drinking buddy and longtime surfing companion brought the partially smoked joint up to his nose and inhaled. JT was Ben’s age and he looked it, with his suntanned face and the lines bracketing his mouth. Sometime over the past twenty years, Ben had blinked, and his skinny, sleepy-eyed friend had grown into a man.
JT had filled out considerably since his teens, and shorn his sun-streaked locks to a more conservative style, but he hadn’t exactly sold out. He still cared more for waves than work, preferred bad girls to good, and couldn’t say no to a recreational high.
Smiling, JT tucked the joint behind his ear. “You off the wagon?”
Ben leaned against the side of the wall, looking out at the mash of water. Choppy form, one-to-two-foot swells, nothing but foam soup and a crappy onshore flow. “Nah,” he said, dragging his gaze back to land. “I took it away from Carly over the weekend. Last night, she threw herself into the Neptune rip.”
That wiped the grin off JT’s face. “Is she okay?”
Ben didn’t know how to answer that. Feeling the hot press of tears behind his eyes, he took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Physically, she seems fine,” he said, hearing the strain in his voice. “A stranger went in after her. A woman.”
JT just stared at him, waiting for him to finish.
“I was inside, asleep. The cops called and woke me up, saying she’d been in an accident.”
JT let out a low whistle. “That girl could drive a saint to drink.”
“Yeah, well. I never claimed to be that.”
“What are you going to do?”
Ben shrugged, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. JT was more of a good-time guy than an intimate confidant, and having had few responsibilities in his devil-may-care life, he was hardly an expert on parenting.
The person he really needed to talk to was Olivia.
“Smoke that, would you?” Ben said, feeling maudlin. “I want to make sure it’s just pot she’s messing with.”
JT plucked the joint from behind his ear and moistened his lips, glad to be of service. “With pleasure.”
Ben took a lighter out of his pocket, leaning forward to offer the flame while JT cupped his hands around his face, blocking out the wind. It took him a few tries to get the joint started. When it lit up, JT’s eyes widened and he sucked in a lungful of smoke. “Tastes all right,” he croaked, holding his breath.
Grunting, Ben pocketed the lighter and glanced around to make sure no one was looking, although he’d smoked pot on this beach a thousand times and never been caught.
JT took another few hits for good measure and doused the cherry with his wet fingertips. Then he split open the paper and studied its contents.
“Well?”
“Give it a few minutes to kick in, bro. Maybe it’s creeper.”
Ben laughed a little, touching the bridge of his nose, as close to hysteria as he’d been to tears a moment ago. If memory served, the term meant that the high snuck up on you.
“Looks like regular shit to me,” JT added, pocketing what was left of the joint. “No black tar or white residue. No funny taste.”
Ben nodded, trying to feel relieved.
“Are you really that worried about her smoking dope, man? We did a lot worse when we were her age.”
“Maybe I don’t want her to end up like me.”
JT squinted at him, shading his eyes from the sun. He opened his mouth to respond, then got distracted by a pretty girl walking by and lost his train of thought.
