Risky Business by Nora Roberts

the water.” She steered the bike to the curb. “Why don’t you come in? See for yourself.”
    She was tempted. Liz had an affection for pretty things, elegant things. It was a weakness she couldn’t allow herself. “I have to get to work.”
    Jonas stepped onto the curb, but put his hand over hers before she could drive away. “I’ll meet you at the house. We’ll go into town together.”
    She only nodded before turning the bike back toward the road. Jonas watched her until the sound of the motor died away. Just who was Elizabeth Palmer? he wondered. And why was it becoming more and more important that he find out?
     
    By evening she was tired. Liz was used to working long hours, lugging equipment, diving, surfacing. But after a fairlyeasy day, she was tired. It should have made her feel secure to have had the young policeman identify himself to her and join her customers on the dive boat. It should have eased her mind that Captain Moralas was keeping his word about protection. It made her feel caged.
    All during the drive home, she’d been aware of the police cruiser keeping a discreet distance. She’d wanted to run into her house, lock the door and fall into a dreamless, private sleep. But Jonas was waiting. She found him on the phone in her living room, a legal pad on his lap and a scowl on his face. Obviously a complication at his office had put him in a nasty mood. Ignoring him, Liz went to shower and change.
    Because her wardrobe ran for the most part to beachwear, she didn’t waste time studying her closet. Without enthusiasm, she pulled out a full cotton skirt in peacock blue and matched it with an oversized red shirt. More to prolong her time alone than for any other reason, she fiddled with her little cache of makeup. She was stalling, brushing out her braided hair, when Jonas knocked on her door. He didn’t give her time to answer before he pushed it open.
    “Did you get the list?”
    Liz picked up a piece of notepaper. She could, of course, snap at him for coming in, but the end result wouldn’t change. “I told you I would.”
    He took the paper from her to study it. He’d shaved, she noticed, and wore a casually chic jacket over bone-colored slacks. But the smoothness and gloss didn’t mesh with the toughness around his mouth and in his eyes. “Do you know these places?”
    “I’ve been to a couple of them. I don’t really have a lot of time for bar-or club-hopping.”
    He glanced up and his curt answer slipped away. The shadesbehind her were up as she preferred them, but the light coming through the windows was pink with early evening. Though she’d buttoned the shirt high over her throat, her hair was brushed back, away from her face. She’d dawdled over the makeup, but her hand was always conservative. Her lashes were darkened, the lids lightly touched with shadow. She’d brushed some color over her cheeks but not her lips.
    “You should be careful what you do to your eyes,” Jonas murmured, absently running his thumb along the top curve of her cheek. “They’re a problem.”
    She felt the quick, involuntary tug but stood still. “A problem?”
    “My problem.” Uneasy, he tucked the paper in his pocket and glanced around the room. “Are you ready?”
    “I need my shoes.”
    He didn’t leave her as she’d expected, instead wandering around her room. It was, as was the rest of the house, furnished simply but with jarring color. The spicy scent he’d noticed before came from a wide green bowl filled with potpourri. On the wall were two colored sketches, one of a sunset very much like the quietly brilliant one outside the window, and another of a storm-tossed beach. One was all serenity, the other all violence. He wondered how much of each were inside Elizabeth Palmer. Prominent next to the bed was a framed photograph of a young girl.
    She was all smiles in a flowered blouse tucked at the shoulders. Her hair came to a curve at her jawline, black and shiny. A tooth was missing,