Shadow Chasing, page 3
After several minutes of what appeared to be light conversation, Philip dived into the pool and did a number of laps. Carla couldn’t help admiring the way his bronze body sliced through the water. Anyone would. A rush of pink colored her cheeks as she recalled their antics last night. Yes, Philip Garrison was indeed gifted.
When Philip came out of the pool, he maneuvered himself so that he “accidentally” dripped water on his scantily clad acquaintance. The luscious blonde sat up to hand him a towel and laughed lightly when more drops of water splashed on her bare midriff.
Forcefully, Carla directed her gaze elsewhere. For a full five minutes she refused to allow herself to turn their way. When curiosity got the better of her, she casually glanced toward Philip and the other woman, who were an unlikely match. To her dismay she found that they were laughing and enjoying a cocktail. One side of Carla’s mouth curved up sarcastically. One would assume a dedicated police officer would know better than to consume alcohol at such an early hour.
Pretending that the sun was burning her tender skin, Carla made a show of standing and draping a light terry-cloth wrap over her shoulders. She tucked her towel and tanning lotion into her oversized bag and walked down the cement stairs that led to the beach.
The beach wasn’t nearly as crowded as the pool area. Carla had just settled in the sandy mattress when she was approached by a vendor carrying a black case. He knelt in front of her and opened the lid to display a large number of silver earrings, bracelets, and rings. She smiled and shook her head. But the man persisted, telling her in poor English that he would sell jewelry to her at a very good price.
Politely but firmly, Carla shook her head again.
Still the man insisted, holding out a lovely silver-and-turquoise ring for her to inspect. His eyes pleaded with her, and Carla couldn’t refuse. The ring was pretty.
Someone spoke in Spanish from behind her. It didn’t take Carla two seconds to realize it was Philip. His words were heavy with authority, although he hadn’t raised his voice. Resenting his intrusion, she tossed him an angry look.
“Do you like the ring?” He directed his comment to her.
“Well, it’s more than I wanted to spend—”
She wasn’t allowed to finish. Philip said something to the vendor, who nodded resignedly, took the ring back, and turned away.
“That wasn’t necessary, you know,” she told him stiffly.
“Perhaps not, but you could buy the same ring in the hotel gift shop for less than what he was asking.” Philip spread out his towel a respectable distance from her. “Do you mind?” he asked before he sat down.
“It’s a public beach,” she returned coolly, recognizing it wouldn’t do any good to object. “Just leave enough space between us so no one will assume we’re together.” She suspected that Philip would only follow her if she got up and moved. “What happened with Miss String Bikini?” Carla had hoped to resist any hint of acid in her query.
Philip chuckled. “Unfortunately, Miss is a Mrs., and hubby looked like the jealous type.”
Now it was Carla’s turn to laugh. She was sorry to have missed the scene of Philip meeting the irate husband. “I’ll admit, though, she had quite a body.”
“Passable,” Philip admitted dryly as his eyes swept over the beach.
Passable! Carla’s mind echoed, wondering what he considered terrific.
“Where’s your roommate?” he asked breezily.
“With…Eduardo. They seem to have hit it off quite well.”
“We did, too, as I recall. I wonder what it would take to get you to agree to have lunch with me.”
“Forget it, Garrison,” Carla said forcefully.
“You know what a good time we could have,” he prodded softly.
“I’m not interested,” Carla replied without looking at him. She felt a twinge of regret at how callous she sounded, and recalled how cold she’d been to him after he’d told her his occupation. She wouldn’t have been so unfeeling, she suspected, if she hadn’t previously expressed her resentment about her father being a policeman. Later, unable to sleep, she decided she was glad she’d told him. It had saved an unnecessary explanation. As it was, she’d pushed herself from his arms and swam to the opposite side of the pool. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Philip Garrison,” she’d said tersely while toweling dry. “But I have one strict code regarding the men I date.”
“I think I can guess what that is,” he’d replied with a control that was frightening. “You realize I didn’t have to tell you. We could have had a pleasant vacation together without you ever being the wiser.”
“Perhaps.” Carla hadn’t been in any mood to reason. “But you saved us both a lot of trouble.” With the damp towel draped over her shoulders, she’d hurried back to her room. Not until she’d changed out of her swimsuit had Carla realized how miserable she was. Disappointed in herself and disappointed in Philip. He might as well have admitted to being married; he was as off-limits as he would be if he had a wife and ten children.
“Nice-looking brunette to your left,” Philip pointed out, breaking her train of thought.
“It doesn’t look like she’s sporting a jealous husband, either,” Carla said jokingly.
Philip’s laugh was good-natured. “I’ll use my practiced routine on her. Care to watch me in action?”
“I’d love it,” Carla answered with open delight. “At least with you out of the picture, some handsome tourist can make a play for me.”
“Good luck,” he called as he stood and loped lazily down the beach.
Handsome tourist. Carla almost laughed. At the rate things were going, the only men she’d be fighting off would be persistent vendors.
Carla watched with growing interest as Philip carelessly tossed his towel on the beach close to the girl and ran into the rolling surf. She’d remember to ask him later about swimming in the ocean. Last night he’d told her the tide was too dangerous, yet he was diving headlong into it without a second’s hesitation.
After a few minutes in the surf, which he apparently thought suitable for a favorable impression, he stood, wiped the water from his face, and walked out of the ocean. He squinted and rubbed his eyes, giving the impression that the water was stinging. The way he groped for his towel made Carla laugh outright. Again by an apparent accident, he flicked sand on the tanning beauty. The woman sat up and brushed the offending particles from her well-oiled body. Philip fell to his knees, and although Carla couldn’t hear what he was saying, she was sure it was some practiced apology. Soon the two of them were talking and laughing. Spreading out his long body, he lay beside the brown-haired beauty. His technique, tried-and-true, had worked well. Rolling his head, Philip caught Carla’s gaze and winked when she gestured with two fingers, giving the okay sign.
For the first time in recent memory, Carla wished that she were as good at acting as Philip was. For a moment she toyed with the idea of following his lead and blatantly approaching a man. Carla’s devil-may-care system should work as well on the beach as it had in the cocktail lounge. But a quick survey of the area didn’t turn up a single male she cared to flirt with. There wasn’t anyone she particularly wanted to meet. Maybe Nancy was right, maybe she had become much too picky lately.
Ten minutes later, Carla stood, brushed the sand from her skin, and picked up her things. After lunch she’d do some shopping.
Philip gave her a brief wave, which she returned. At least one of them had been successful. At least one of them was having a good time.
* * *
—
The oppressive afternoon heat eventually brought Carla back into the air-conditioned cocktail lounge. Sipping a piña colada, she surveyed the growing crowd of tourists. A couple times men had asked if they could buy her a drink, but she’d declined. Men who used tanning machines, wore gold chains around their necks, and left their shirts open to their navels didn’t interest Carla. Her spirits were low, and she hated to think she’d be fighting this depression the entire week. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get locked in a state of self-pity.
The room was filling up rapidly, and when Philip entered, Carla pretended to be inordinately interested in her drink.
“Hi.” He sauntered to her side. “Do you mind if I join you, or will I be distracting any potential margarita drinkers?”
“By all means join me,” she said with a poor attempt at a smile. “I don’t exactly seem to be drawing a crowd. How about you? I expected you to stroll in here with Miss September.”
He cleared his throat and took the plush seat beside her. “That didn’t work out.”
“Was there a Mr. September?”
“No.” Philip cleared his throat a second time. “Things didn’t work out, that’s all.”
“Philip,” she said and moaned impatiently, “come on, tell me what happened. You can’t leave me in suspense like this.” Something perverse inside her wanted to know about Philip’s latest rejection. Maybe she needed to salve her pride at his expense, which was childish, Carla thought, but shared misery beats the solo kind.
He ignored her while he raised his hand to attract the waitress’s attention. “What’s that you’re drinking?”
“Piña colada,” Carla answered quickly. “Out with it, Garrison. Details, I want details.”
The waitress came to take his order. Carla had lost the desire to impress him with her vast knowledge of the Spanish language. As it was, the waitress eyed her warily, as if she were afraid Carla was going loco.
“No margarita tonight?” His eyes mocked hers as a smile touched the corners of his mouth.
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I’ll tell you over dinner.” He raised both of his thick brows suggestively.
“Do you think bribing me is going to work?”
He smiled faintly, rather tenderly, at her. “I was hoping it would.”
This was the best offer she’d had all day. And she wasn’t about to refuse. “All right, as long as we understand one another.”
“Of course we do,” he replied formally. “You don’t want to date cops, and with good reason.”
“With a very good reason,” she repeated emphatically.
The waitress delivered their drinks and brought a plate with two tacos, or what Carla assumed were tacos. She’d noticed that a sign outside the lounge stated that anyone buying a drink between four and five would receive a free taco. But this fried corn tortilla that had been filled with meat and rolled didn’t resemble anything she’d call a taco. No lettuce, no cheese, no tomato.
One nibble confirmed that it didn’t taste anything like a taco, either. “What’s in this?”
Philip eyed her doubtfully. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Of course I do.”
He shrugged. “Turtle.”
Carla closed her eyes and swallowed. “Turtle,” she repeated. “It tastes more like week-old tuna fish to me.”
“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.”
She set it back on the plate. “It’s something to tell my friends about, but it’s nothing I’d recommend.”
“It’ll grow on you,” Philip commented.
“I certainly hope not,” Carla said with a grimace. “Have you ever examined the skin on those things?”
Suddenly they were both laughing as if she’d said the most uproariously funny thing in the world. “Come on.” His hand reached for hers. “Let’s get out of here before they throw us out.” He laid several bills beside their uneaten turtle tacos. They finished their drinks and together they left hand in hand, practically running out of the cocktail lounge.
Not until they were in a golf cart/taxi did Carla ask where they were headed.
“Señor Frog’s,” Philip shouted, the wind whipping his voice past her.
“No.” She waved her hand dramatically. “Not if they serve what I think they do.”
“Not to worry.” Philip placed an arm around her shoulders and spoke close to her ear. “This is a famous tourist trap. The food’s good, but the place is wild. You’ll love it.”
And just as he’d promised, Carla did love it. After almost an hour’s delay, they were ushered through the restaurant doors only to be led to a cocktail lounge. The music and boisterous singing were so loud that Carla couldn’t hear herself speak when she leaned over to ask Philip something. He bent closer but finally gestured that they’d have to talk afterward outside.
* * *
—
Two hours later, well fed and singing softly, Carla and Philip left the restaurant with their arms wrapped around each other.
“That was wild.”
“I knew you’d like it,” Philip said, smiling tenderly at her.
“But there’s a method to your madness.”
“How’s that?”
“With all the noise, you weren’t able to tell me about Miss September.”
“All right, if you must know.”
“I must,” she replied firmly. “I hope you realize I baked in the hot sun while I waited to see how you did. Honestly, Philip, your approach could have been a little more original.”
The look he gave told her that he was offended. “I thought my technique was one of a kind.”
Carla looked at the darkening sky and rolled her eyes but refrained from comment. “I’m surprised that you didn’t go up to her and ask if you’d met someplace before.”
Philip shifted his weight onto the other foot. “To be honest, that occurred to me, too.”
Laughing, Carla said, “You, my dear Philip, are refreshingly unimaginative.”
He chuckled as he seemed to be studying the cracks in the sidewalk on which they were strolling. He didn’t appear to have any clear direction.
“Now, will you spill the beans about Miss September? I’m dying to know what happened.”
He was quiet for a few moments. “You prefer not to date policemen, and I have a thing about flight attendants.”
Most men had a “thing” about flight attendants, too, but it wasn’t to avoid them. It wasn’t one of her more brilliant deductions to guess that Philip had once loved a flight attendant and been hurt. “Do you want to tell me about her? I make a great wailing wall,” she murmured sympathetically.
“Not if I can avoid it.” He looked at her and smiled. “Tell me about your afternoon. Any success?”
“No one,” she said dejectedly, and shook her head for emphasis. “Unless you count guys in gold chains who enjoy revealing their chest hair.”
“Some women like those kind of men.”
“Not me.”
Philip hesitated, then asked, “I wonder if I could interest you in a short-term, no-obligation, strictly regulated but guaranteed fun relationship.”
Carla’s mouth curved wryly. She’d had a better time with Philip tonight than she’d had the entire day she’d spent alone. Her mind was flashing a bright neon NO in bold red letters. If she had any sense whatsoever, she’d shake her head and decline without another word.
“Well?” he urged.
“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. Five days. What could possibly happen in five days? She’d come to Mexico looking for a good time. She knew who Philip was, and, more important, what he was.
The silence lengthened. “I think I should make one thing clear. I have no intention of treating you like a sister.”
He could have lied. But again, he’d chosen to be straight with her. She appreciated that.
“I don’t want anything more than these five days. Once we leave Mazatlán, it’s over.”
“Agreed,” he said, and a finger tenderly traced the outline of her jaw.
A tingling sensation burned across her face, and she closed her eyes against its potency. She’d be safe. She’d walked into this with her eyes wide open. He lived in Spokane. She lived in Seattle. A light flirtation was what she’d had in mind in the first place. Knowing what he was should make it all the easier to walk away next Saturday. But it hadn’t lessened the attraction she felt for him—and that appeared to be growing every minute.
“I…haven’t agreed yet.” Her pride demanded one last stand.
“But you will,” Philip said confidently.
“How can you be so sure?” Carla returned, piqued by his attitude.
“Well, for one thing, you’re looking at me with ‘kiss me’ eyes.”
Embarrassed, Carla shot her gaze to the ground. “That’s not true—” she denied hotly, and she was ready to argue further, but Philip cut her off.
“Do you agree or not?” He held out his hand for her to shake.
“I have a feeling I’m going to regret this,” she said, and placed her hand in his.
Philip didn’t argue. But when his arm closed around her, she didn’t object. She liked the idea of being linked with this man, even if it was for only a few days.
“How about a ride on an cabriolet?” he suggested, his mouth disturbingly close to her ear.
“I don’t know what you’re suggesting, Philip Garrison, but that doesn’t sound like something nice girls do.”
His laughter filled the night. “That’s a two-wheeled horse-drawn cab.”
“Sounds romantic.” Knowing Philip, Carla was willing to bet he’d instruct the driver to take the long way back to the hotel through scented, shady boulevards. She was in the mood for a few stolen kisses, and so was Philip, gauging by his look.
“If we can’t find one, we can always jog back to the hotel,” he said seriously.
“With a name like Walker, you expect me to run?”
