“Like what?”
“Like one of his enemies.”
She blinks a few times, her eyes dropping to the table. “What did you want to ask me, Danny?” She reaches for her wine and takes a sip, refusing to look me in the eye.
“Can I be prosecuted for faking my death?”
Her glass freezes halfway back to the table, and I’m thrown when her face breaks and one corner of her mouth lifts. She finds my question funny? “Your wife beat you to it,” she says, finally looking at me.
My head slowly tilts, her amusement making sense now. I laugh under my breath, shaking my head mildly as I trace the rim of my tumbler. “Rose has already asked you.”
“She has.”
“And?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“Foul play.” She sets her wine down, and I find myself moving in closer to the table, interested. “So long as there is no financial gain to yourself, life insurance, for example, then, actually, no. If you hate your life, you’re technically allowed to engineer an exit from it.”
I nod, thoughtful, thinking this news would have pissed Rose right off. She was looking for an out. Any reason to stop me going back to Miami. “I signed everything over to Rose. There were no policies involved.”
“Then the FBI is powerless.”
“What about my cousin? He identified me.” I’m covering all my bases. The last thing I need is to step back into Miami and Brad or I get arrested.
“You drowned.” She states it as a fact, telling me Beau knows of my story, which isn’t surprising, since she was a cop. I nod, and she goes on. “How long were you in the water before you were dragged out?”
“Three days.”
She shrugs, not seeming in the least bit concerned. “A body generally starts to bloat after three days. In the water, that can be slowed depending on the temperature. Regardless, that long in the water will produce drastic changes in the appearance of a dead body.”
“So you’re saying they can’t touch me.”
“The FBI won’t waste time looking for someone who wanted to leave their life.”
“I’m not just anyone, Beau,” I point out. Fair enough, I get that a person wanting to take a departure from their life with no ill-gotten gains isn’t worth the FBI’s time. But I am worth their time. “And I have committed plenty of crimes.”
“Can they prove those crimes are yours?”
“No.”
She nods slowly, tapping the stem of her wine glass. “Then I’ll start praying for Miami.” She glances past me, and I look over my shoulder to see James returning, Rose not far behind him. “I want your word on one thing,” she says, keeping her attention on James.
“What?”
“You leave Dexter out of your business.”
“Who’s Dexter?” I ask, my tone level, my mind quickly telling me to play it cool.
Beau looks at me, her eyes narrowing a little as she takes what appears to be a relaxed sip of her wine. “You know exactly who he is, but for the sake of clarity, he’s the man who killed our baby.”
“And nearly killed you,” I point out. “So why would you want him left out of it, and why would you tell me and not James?”
“I want him left out of it because I have to believe there was a method to his madness. He’s my uncle’s husband. And I’m telling you and not James because I don’t believe he can resist bludgeoning him.” Her eyes lift the nearer James gets to the table. Fuck me, she knows her man well. Problem is, he’s already bludgeoned Dexter, and I was the one who brought him to James.
The waiter lays the bill on the table. “I’ll get it,” I say, dragging it over, stopping James from pulling out his wallet. “You get the next one.”
He nods and Beau stands, moving into Rose and hugging her. Their embrace is solid. They’ve connected. My wife has never had a friend, and seeing her with Beau, even if it kicked off a little prickly, eases the guilt riddling me. These two women are going to need each other, and as I look at James, I note he’s watching them too, undoubtedly thinking along the same lines.
He catches my eye, and I nod sharply, extending my hand. “Jet skis tomorrow?” I ask.
“Sure.” He shakes, and I stand when Beau approaches me. Reaching up, she kisses my cheek, lingering. Waiting for me to give her my word. Fuck. Me.
I loop an arm around her shoulder and pull her close. “You have it,” I say quietly in her ear, lying through my teeth, and I take absolutely no pleasure from it.
“Thank you.” She breaks away and joins James, and he’s quick to tuck her fragile body close into his side. I watch them walk out as I lower to the chair, patting my lap for Rose to join me.
“I think there’s some make-up sex on the horizon,” she whispers as she settles, arms linked around my neck.
“I applaud him for waiting until he gets her home.” I hold her with one arm around her lower back, reaching for my cigarettes and pulling one out with my teeth. Rose takes my Zippo from the table and lights it for me.
“She’s got issues,” she says as I take us back in the chair, getting comfortable.
“We all have.”
“But I like her.”
I smile to myself, the simple declaration providing endless contentment. “Does that mean you’ll stop chewing my balls?”
“No,” she whispers, laying her head on my shoulder and staring out at the ocean. “I still don’t like this.”
I look at her arm that’s positioned under my chin, the scars bright on her gorgeous tan skin. I know how Rose has dealt with things out of her control in the past. I’ll be keeping a close eye on her. Always. “Come.” I tap her arse, she stands with me, and I hold my cigarette between my lips as I pull some notes from my trouser pocket and count some off, tossing them on the table.
I dip and collect her shoes, take her hand, and lead her to the opening in the wall. The sandy trail to the beach is dark now, the rocks poking up through the sand out of sight. “Get on.” I drop to one knee and her leg appears over my shoulder, then the other, her hands on my head. I lay my arm across her shins and rise, walking us down the rest of the path to the beach. “Okay up there?” I ask, taking a drag of my cigarette.
“On top of the world,” she says wistfully, her hands leaving my head. I know they’re stretched up to the sky, her eyes closed, her head back. Rose. Peaceful Rose. She makes me a really fucking happy man, but in this moment, that happiness is being tarnished by what lies ahead.
I wander slowly, relishing my wife upon my shoulders, the waves lapping the shore gently, the moon glowing hypnotically. I’ll miss this. But we’ll be back. I couldn’t go very long without it. I flick my cigarette away and hold up her sandals to take, laying a palm on each of her thighs under her dress. She squeezes her legs slightly, and I peek up, my smile small.
“I want to get married,” she declares out of the blue, and I frown at the shore.
“You are married.”
“Again.”
The stretch of beach ahead curves around to the left, clusters of lighting dotted along the way from the bars lining it. “Why?”