Dancing with Fire Read online

  He shrugged. “I came back for more weed.”

  “Liar.” He’d come back because of her. She and Billy were tight, and it was good to have company. Being alone sucked. “More likely you wanted me to do your homework.”

  Lia wasn’t the best student, but Billy was downright terrible. He didn’t have much ambition, either. If not for her, he wouldn’t have passed last year.

  “You know I might not always be able to help you.” Lia placed Randy on her lap.

  “Why not?”

  “Kaylin wants to go to New York. I wouldn’t be surprised if she upped and moved me there.”

  “She told you she was staying,” Billy reminded her.

  “I know that’s what she said . . . but with Sawyer and her planning to maybe sell Dad’s business, she could afford New York. Of course, they’d get more money if we could find Dad’s laptop.”

  “Really? Why?”

  Billy had to be the greatest friend. He loved to talk about her family. And he loved to talk about Lia’s problems. Her clothes. Her hair. Her sisters. In some ways, she realized, he desperately wanted her family to be his family. And that was cool with her.

  She liked to pretend Billy was her brother. He did look out for her. Last year, one of boys at school had pressured Lia to go out, and then he’d wanted more than Lia had wanted to give. Billy had put a scare into the guy.

  He kept her secrets. And she kept his. Only she wished he’d quit the drugs. He’d picked up some new friends who scared her. But she could never convince Billy he was flirting with danger.

  A black van pulled into the driveway, and two men walked right to their front door. Billy peered at Lia. “Is your TV broken?”

  “Not that I know of. Why?”

  “Before the van turned into the drive, I thought I read TV repair on the sign.”

  “I suppose I should go inside . . .”

  Billy grabbed her hand. “Stay here and be quiet.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “They didn’t ring the bell, and they’re inside the house.”

  Damn. Billy had exceptional hearing. If he’d heard them go in, then she believed him, and the tension in her neck tightened her muscles into knots. She heard glass breaking, thumps, thuds. “They’re wrecking the house,” she whispered. “We have to do something.”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “No. You go in there, they might wreck you, too.”

  “We could jump off the roof. Go for help.”

  “We’re twenty feet up. We jump, we’ll break bones, and they’ll find us.”

  “So we should stay here and do nothing?”

  “I’m good with that.” Billy placed an arm over her shoulder.

  They heard pounding, like hammers on walls. Even an electric drill. More thuds, metal slamming, and plates shattering on the floor.

  Between the hot sun and her fear, Lia began to sweat under her arms, between her shoulder blades. Strangers were tearing apart her home. Ruining their things. “I’m going to be sick.”

  “Shh. We can’t let them find us.”

  Randy started to bark.

  The banging and drilling stopped. Oh . . . my . . . God. Male voices rose in a heated discussion, but Lia couldn’t make out the words. Had they heard the dog?

  Were they searching for Randy? Searching for them?

  Billy and Lia exchanged a look of horror. She patted Randy’s head. “Shh, baby, shh. Don’t bark. Please don’t bark.”

  13

  BECCA DIDN’T have errands. How could she think about banking and picking up her skirt from the dry cleaners when she was so upset?

  Besides, she desperately needed to see Shadee. He hadn’t called all week. While she told herself he was giving her time to grieve, the thought still niggled at Becca that he’d somehow thought she’d gone too far. She shouldn’t have made love to him.

  It would explain the lack of phone calls. In fact, going over to the marina where Shadee worked might not be a very good idea. She’d just stop by. Say hello. Gauge his mood.

  From Riverview, she drove south on the interstate to Apollo Beach. In the last five years the area had boomed with new housing, especially along the waterfront. Condos and single family homes nestled along man-made canals that provided boating opportunities for residents along Tampa Bay. Those who lived inland could also enjoy the multitude of islands and beaches by keeping a boat at the marina.

  She parked and got out, appreciative of the salt tang of the water, the seagulls diving into the harbor for fish. A stiff breeze cooled her skin and dried her lips. Nervously, she searched for Shadee among the boats at the marina. If he was on the dock, he’d be easy to spot. Just under six feet, with cropped dark hair and dark sunglasses, he should stick out easily among the families that frequented the place. She saw powerboats, sailboats, and houseboats cradled on land and docked in the harbor. But the marina seemed deserted, and she realized she’d never been here during the week, only on busy weekends. She didn’t see Shadee, either.

  She hoped he wasn’t working in the warehouse today. Inside, he’d be with coworkers. Outside, they’d have more privacy for a quiet chat. Becca headed for the docks. Sailboats and motorboats were tied to slips. Almost every slip was full.

  Sailboat halyards clanged against their masts, and the protected harbor had a slight chop due to the southwest wind that blew in from the bay. Her hair tracked over her eyes, and she swept it up with one hand.

  There. She saw a dark-haired man duck into a large sailboat all the way at the end of the third dock. Stomach churning, she prayed Shadee was alone, not working with another mechanic. Prayed even harder that he wouldn’t be furious with her for having . . .

  God. Surely he wouldn’t hold it against her that they’d made love?

  A dolphin arced through the water, accompanying her down the dock. Sometimes manatees swam through here, but most preferred the warmer waters by the local Tampa Electric power plant. Fish raced ahead of the dolphin, eager to get out of the way. Her hair whipped her face. Great. Not only was her hair going to be a pathetic mess, her makeup would be smudged and smeared by the time she arrived.

  You’re only stopping by to chat.

  Yeah, sure.

  She’d spent half an hour deciding what to wear, another half hour on her hair and makeup, and driven ten minutes out of her way just to say hi. Her gut churned. Maybe she should have waited until lunch. That might have seemed more natural.

  Becca was certain her social skills would have been much better if their mother had lived. Not that Kaylin was a nerd or anything, but she wasn’t a social animal. Their house was usually quiet, not party city. Becca had to go out and make her own fun.

  Fun with Shadee was the best kind.

  She closed in on the sailboat. The fiberglass glistened, and the spotless chrome shone in the sunlight. An open hatch was a portal to a cabin below, but because of the contrast between the bright light outside and the dark cabin interior, she couldn’t see down there.

  Should she wait for Shadee to come up? Call out? Why not?

  She heard a clang down below, like the sound of a metal tool striking another piece of metal, and the sound of him speaking Arabic. At least she thought it was Arabic. Uh-oh. Suppose he wasn’t alone?

  “Shadee?”

  “Down here.”

  Okay. Now she had an invite. This wasn’t hard. So why was her mouth so dry, her pulse unsteady? She didn’t even know if Shadee had recognized her voice.

  She ducked into the cockpit, and the wind stopped tearing at her. Taking a moment to smooth her hair and let her eyes adjust to the shadowy cabin, she looked below but didn’t see anyone. She climbed through the hatch and found herself in a kitchen—no, a galley, it was called on a boat—to starboard. Opposite was a luxur
ious white leather wraparound bench and a kitchen table made of a light-colored wood. There were lots of matching light oak cabinets and another cabin up ahead. But as she peered forward, she still didn’t see Shadee.

  “Where are you?”

  “Here.” His voice, dark and gruff, was behind her. He was slipping his phone into his pocket. Since no one else was there, she assumed he must have been on his cell.

  She spun to see two bunks, one on either side of the hull and behind the hatch where she’d entered. An open panel revealed he’d been working on the engine.

  From the bunk Shadee peered at her but said nothing. She swallowed hard. Why couldn’t he say that her visit was a nice surprise? Even a what-the-hell-are-you-doing-here question would reveal his mood. But he said nothing.

  “Hi.” How lame was that? Get it together, girl.

  He frowned and stared at her with those big brown eyes. “Is everything okay?”

  “I guess. Why?”

  “You aren’t smiling.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re always smiling.”

  “I am?”

  He stood, ducking his head slightly in the cabin. “So what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Sheesh. He wasn’t giving her any clue at all about the other night. If he was angry, he was keeping it inside. If he wasn’t, he wasn’t being his normal friendly self.

  His lips quirked. “Nothing?”

  And what was this? Now he was acting as if she were hiding something.

  “You’re working on the engine?” she asked, wishing that with all the gauges she’d seen on the boat, she had one to determine his thoughts.

  “A tune-up.” He leaned into her. “You smell good. Like jasmine and oranges.”

  “A new shampoo. I’m glad you like it.”

  He brushed her bangs from her eyes, tilted up her chin. She locked gazes with him. Heat flamed from his soft brown irises. Then his mouth angled down over hers, and he was kissing her, deep, hard, needy. She wound her arms around his neck, loving the feel of his warm flesh and corded muscles. The boat floated over a wave, and she used the excuse to lean into him, until all her curves slid against all his hardness.

  She so needed to be held. Kissed. Loved.

  Last week had been terrible. She didn’t want to think about losing her dad. She didn’t want to think about losing Shadee. She didn’t want to talk. She only wanted to feel.

  And Shadee knew exactly what she needed. He kissed her back, his mouth teasing, taunting, tasting. Oh . . . my . . . he felt delicious. But the open hatch . . . anyone who came to the dock could board the boat. Find them kissing. However, it wasn’t much of a risk. The place was deserted.

  Besides, the idea of his willingness to risk his job to kiss her excited her. She must mean a lot to him. But it was hard to think with her blood simmering through her veins.

  He ran his hands up and down her back. “Does this feel good?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t want him to stop. Whenever she was with Shadee, he always made her feel good. Wanted. Precious. Pretty.

  “Tell me you want more.”

  “Tell me you want me,” she demanded right back at him.

  “I want you.” Shadee leaned into her and held her close, his grip both tender and fervent. “You have no idea how much.”

  For a moment she hesitated. Yes, he wanted her body. But was that it? But then his lips claimed hers. Damn, the man could kiss. They could talk later.

  Much later.

  14

  WITMAN CONTAINER consisted of ten impressive industrial acres along a railroad spur. Steel, delivered by train car, was unloaded by forklift and overhead cranes then moved into a massive open-air warehouse. Machine shop workers cut and bent flat plated steel. Welders, steel fabricators, and painters in hardhats and steel-toed boots worked on tanks in every stage of manufacture.

  In addition to steel tanks, the company also manufactured fiberglass ones. Kaylin wrinkled her nose. The odor of the process wasn’t something she’d like to breathe on a daily basis.

  Sawyer led Kaylin along a sidewalk toward the office. The brick building was set to one side of the plant and from the substantial number of cars parked outside, she realized Witman Container consisted of several departments—a multimillion dollar operation. If the owner was interested in buying out her father, and she believed Dean Witman had been serious or he wouldn’t have called the day after her father’s death, then they could certainly afford to make a decent offer.

  Her excitement rose. “Have you been here before?”

  “Once. Witman delivered a tank with a hole cut through the side. We didn’t discover the mistake until after they’d unloaded the truck.”

  “Did they take care of it?” She was curious. Whenever she had a customer relations problem at the studio, she’d found her best move was to ask questions and do her best to fix the situation immediately.

  “They picked up the damaged tank the same day and gave us a ten percent discount on the new one for our trouble. Back then, Witman Senior was in charge.”

  Sawyer sounded as if he’d been pleased with the company’s service. However, his tone implied that the son didn’t run the business in the same competent fashion as the father. She wondered if both Witmans would be at the meeting.

  Sawyer opened a glass door for her, and she entered and approached the front desk. After they’d given the receptionist their names, she immediately ushered them through a set of double doors down a hallway into a spacious office with oversized windows that overlooked the outside operation. Blueprints of tanks dominated the room, their spec sheets pinned to the wall and rolled up on shelves, spilling over to the desk and onto the floor.

  A tall, well-groomed, brown-haired man in his mid-thirties rose to his feet as they entered. Dean Witman Senior was nowhere in sight.

  “Come in.” Dean Jr. shook hands with her and Sawyer and then swept more blueprints from two chairs. “Please have a seat. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?”

  “We’re fine, thanks,” Kaylin said.

  With his sleeves rolled up, his nails clipped short, and his hands smudged with ink, Witman looked like he worked for a living. Streaks of dust on his neck and dusty boots indicated he’d been inside the plant this morning. Pictures that Kaylin assumed were of his wife and kids were proudly displayed on his desk. From first appearances, the guy seemed legit. Solid.

  Right now, to her, any offer would be a good one. It wasn’t as if she wanted to go into the biodiesel business. She glanced at Sawyer. His face had a friendly expression, but his eyes were guarded, reminding her that selling out would be the end of his dream.

  Dean settled a hip on his desk, ignoring his chair. “Before we talk business, I just want to say that I’m sorry about your father. He was a good man.”

  “Thank you.”

  As if realizing she had to crane her neck to look up at him, Dean moved around his desk to his chair and took a seat. He didn’t ignore Sawyer but directed his remarks to her. “I understand your father was close to working out a formula? Did he finish?”

  Wow. Talk about direct and to the point. Kaylin leaned back. “I’m not that familiar with my father’s business, so I’ll have to leave that question to Sawyer.”

  “Fair enough.” Dean folded his hands and waited.

  Sawyer spoke easily, as if he weren’t weighing his words carefully, but she knew better. “If Henry had completed the formula, you’d be interested in purchasing it?”

  “Yes.” Dean didn’t hesitate. “We have the room and the resources,” he gestured to two empty acres out back, “to put Henry’s formula into practice. I’d like to see his work come to fruition. Of course, I’d have to verify with other scientists that his formula actually worked.”

  Sawyer kept his tone pleasant and nonconfr
ontational. “And why should we sell to you? Why not take his formula to Mobil, Chevron, or BP and let them bid?”

  Dean shrugged as if he’d already thought of that and had dismissed it. “First, they might not be interested. Second, those big companies take a week to send a memo, and it might be months just for you to do lunch. To get them to make an actual offer might take years. In the meantime, they might steal the formula from you just to squash it. Or if you wait too long, someone else may come up with the same formula or a different process that makes Henry’s obsolete. I’m ready, willing, and able to act right now.”

  Dean Witman had made very good points. But Sawyer’s expression didn’t change one iota, and he kept his voice level. “After what happened at the lab—”

  “Big companies might believe Henry blew himself up.”

  “He didn’t,” Kaylin insisted.

  “Can you prove that?”

  Kaylin shrugged.

  “Then you have nothing to sell.”

  “Not necessarily,” Sawyer said. “After what happened at the lab, you can understand that we’re reluctant to admit what Henry did or did not discover.”

  “Look, if Henry blew himself up—you have a problem. And if it wasn’t an accident, you’re talking corporate espionage, and you still have a problem. Whoever owns this secret could be in danger. While I can protect myself and my family, can you?”

  Was that a warning or a threat? Kaylin didn’t know. She was having trouble reading Witman.

  But at the implication of danger to her family, Kaylin would have shuddered if she didn’t have a dancer’s control over her body. She’d promised Sawyer she wouldn’t undermine his negotiations. She’d keep her word. However, that didn’t mean he was going to talk her into anything. She’d make up her own mind.

  “We are willing to consider a sale.” Sawyer held the other man’s gaze. “So here’s what I suggest: make us an offer, with all your contingencies, and we’ll consider it.”

  “You want me to make you an offer based on a formula that might or might not exist?”

  “Obviously, if it does exist, we’ll provide you with proof before money changes hands.”