Diamond Bay by Linda Howard Page B

a pair of jeans, a pair of black denim cutoffs in
case the jeans were too uncomfortable on his leg and a pair of khaki chinos. She was ready to head for the checkout counter when a tingle ran
up her spine, and her head lifted. Glancing around, she saw a man casually examining some sale items, and
the tingle became a fullfledged chill. It was
Agent Lowell.
    Without breaking stride, she diverted her path to the women's
section. The men's clothes, though androgynous enough that they couldn't be
recognized as men's unless the sizes were examined, would be a dead giveaway
under close scrutiny. Unfortunately Agent Lowell was exactly the type to
subject everything to just such an examination. The undershorts, socks and
shoes, beneath the pants and shirts, could have no logical explanation.
    Ruthlessly she went through the underwear section. Several pairs of panties, all lace
and satin, were thrown on top of the pile. A frothy confection of a bra and a
matching half-slip were added; she hoped she could trust in the normal male's
aversion to handling female lingerie in a public place to keep Agent Lowell from examining the contents of her shopping
cart. Out of the corner of her eye she saw
him casually moving closer, pausing every so often to examine certain items
with absent interest. He was good; he slid through the crowds without
attracting notice. He tracked, while giving no appearance of being a hunter.
    A grim look entered Rachel's eyes. He would have to be determined
indeed to get to the bottom of her cart. Wheeling around, she headed for the
drug-and-health section. Intimate female items, some of which she never used
but chose now for their conspicuous packaging, were thrown into the cart. If he
dared reach for anything she would accuse him of being a pervert in a voice
loud enough to bring every store security guard at a run.
    He was closing in again. Rachel chose her moment, then turned her
cart and all but rammed it into his knee.
    "Oh, my goodness, I'm sorry!" she gasped in apology.
"I didn't see you – oh," she said again, startled recognition in her
voice. "Ag – " She stopped, looked around, then lowered her voice to
little more than a whisper. "Agent Lowell."
    It was an Academy Award-winning
performance, but it might have been wasted on Agent Lowell, who was preoccupied
with rubbing his knee. He straightened, a look of
pain still in his eyes. "Hello again, Ms….I don't believe I got your name
yesterday."
    "Jones," she said, holding out her hand. "Rachel Jones."
    His hand was hard, but his palm was a little moist. Agent Lowell
wasn't quite as relaxed as he appeared.
    "You're out early," he commented.
    "With the heat the way it is, it's best to either get out
early or wait until after sundown. You really should wear a hat if you're going to be walking around today
the way you were yesterday." His face was already sunburned, so her advice was too late.
    His expressionless eyes drifted down to the contents of the cart,
then jerked back up abruptly. Rachel felt a moment's grim satisfaction at her
choices. His presence could be pure coincidence, or it could be deliberate, but
he was automatically curious; it was part of his job. She sensed that he had
been less disarmed by her studied nonchalance and innocence than the other
agent had been.
    "You, uh, may have to float a loan to pay for all that,"
he said after a slight pause.
    She ruefully examined the cart. "You may be right. Every time
I go off on a trip it seems as if I never have what I need."
    His eyes sharpened with interest. "You're going on a
trip?"
    "In a couple of weeks. I'm doing some research on the Keys,
and it always helps to see an area firsthand."
    "Research?"
    She shrugged. "I dabble in several things. I have my souvenir
shops. I do a little writing, teach a few night courses. It keeps me from
getting bored with myself." Looking at the checkout counters, where the
lines were growing, she said blithely, "I'd better get in line before
everyone in the store