Hurricane Bay by Heather Graham

Don’t show fear? Or scream like blue blazes, push away with all her strength and run like the wind?
    She didn’t have to make a decision. She heard the slamming of a car door and a man’s voice. “Hey, what’s going on there?”
    Latham’s hand fell from her shoulder. They both recognized the voice. Latham shook his head with disgust, his eyes moving from the newcomer back to Kelsey once again. “There he is, the big military man, ready to knock my lights out,” he said. “I wasn’t about to hurt you, little girl. And you want to know where Sheila is? Ask her good buddy, the half-breed coming up the walk.”
    She’d known from hearing him, without turning, that Dane Whitelaw had arrived. She’d been relieved.
    But Latham’s words gave her a chill.
    She turned, Latham’s words echoing in her mind. “You want to know where Sheila is? Ask her good buddy, the half-breed coming up the walk.”
    Dane was coming up the path. He wasn’t looking at Kelsey; he was staring at Latham.
    His hair was combed back, freshly washed, a little long at the collar, but off his face now. He was in khakis and a short-sleeved blue tailored shirt. Dane wasn’t exactly a half-breed. His grandfather had been a Miccosukee Indian who had married a Swedish tourist. The two had set up shop in the Keys, died together in an automobile accident and left his father with ownership of Hurricane Bay. His dad had made a career out of the military, retired, turned to fishing off his peaceful property for an extra income, and then married Mary Smith, a woman who could claim ancestors all the way back to the Mayflower. Kelsey could just barely remember Dane’s mother. She had welcomed every kid in the world into their house. She had been quick to laugh, to entertain, to love children. She had wanted twenty, she had told them once. At least a dozen little sisters and brothers for Dane. But both she and Dane’s father had married late in life, and complications had set in when she’d finally gotten pregnant again just before Dane’s tenth birthday. She had died months before the baby was due. Dane’s father had never remarried. He had always been a wonderful man when the kids were around, but he had seldom left his own little island, except to sell his catch.
    Dane Whitelaw seemed to have inherited the best to be had from his background. He had dark eyes, a chiseled face with slightly broad cheekbones, dark-wheat-colored hair that was always sun-bleached to a lighter shade, and the height and stance of a Viking. She had adored him growing up. He’d been her brother’s best friend. But then Joe had been killed, and their little world had changed for everyone.
    Dane reached the open doorway, still staring pointedly at Andy Latham. His dark gaze had never wavered once.
    â€œWhat the hell are you doing here, Whitelaw?” Latham asked.
    â€œI was in the neighborhood,” Dane said, an obvious lie. There was nothing in the immediate neighborhood that could have drawn him.
    â€œYou’re trespassing on my property.”
    â€œDon’t worry. I’m getting off it.” He stared at Kelsey.
    She was tempted to stay just because she didn’t want Dane helping her, not when he was top on her list of…well, not suspects, but highly suspicious people. And not when he had been such an ass that afternoon. Maybe she had approached him badly. But he should have cared. He should at least have frowned with worry and tried to say something good about Sheila.
    Then again, maybe she just disliked Dane because of what had happened after Joe had died.
    â€œKelsey, were you staying?” Dane asked when she didn’t move.
    â€œNo, I have a dinner engagement,” she said.
    She turned to walk down the overgrown path, certain this time that creepy things were touching her flesh when the overgrown brush swept over her legs.
    She reached her own car. Dane