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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 gets ahead of me. Oh—did you find anything yesterday?”
His face was a blank mask, though his eyes were once again peering at her cart. “No, nothing. It may have been a false lead.”
“Well, good luck. Remember to get a cap or something while you’re here.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
She joined one of the lines at the row of checkout counters and selected a magazine to flip through while she waited, gradually nudging the cart forward. He had moved to the side and was looking at paperback books. Damn, would he never leave? When it came her time, she unloaded the cart and tried to keep her body between Lowell and the counter. The clerk picked up the package of undershorts and held them in front of her while she punched in the code number on the computerized cash register. Rachel shifted to that side, and when the clerk set the package down she pushed a shirt over it. Lowell was moving closer.
“One-forty-six eighteen,” the clerk said, reaching for a large bag.
Rachel checked her wallet, inwardly grimacing. She seldom carried that much cash, and this was no exception. Disgruntled, she plunked down a plastic credit card and the clerk ran it through the imprinting machine, then called to get an okay on the amount. Lowell had walked around to the front of the store and was coming down in front of the checkout counters. Rachel grabbed the bag the clerk had laid on the counter and began shoving her purchases into it.
“Sign here,” the clerk said, pushing the credit slip toward her. Rachel scribbled her name and a moment later the bag was stapled shut. She loaded it in the cart and began wheeling it out of the store.
“Need any help?” Lowell asked, falling into step beside her.
“No, rolling it in the cart is easier than carrying it. Thanks, anyway.”
The humid heat settled on them like a suffocating blanket as soon as they left the cool confines of the store, and Rachel squinted her eyes against the almost painful brightness. After opening the trunk of the car she dumped the bag in and slammed the lid shut, agonizingly aware of Lowell’s acute interest.
She pushed the cart to a buggy-return stand, then walked back to the car. “Goodbye,” she said casually.
He was still watching as she drove out of the lot. Rachel wiped the perspiration off her face, aware that her heart was thudding in a panicky rhythm. She was out of practice for this! She only hoped he hadn’t been too suspicious.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE DREAMS WERE still so vivid that it was several minutes before he realized he was awake, but awareness did not necessarily bring understanding. He lay quietly, looking around the cool, dim, unfamiliar room and groping for any details in his mind that would give him a hint of what was going on and where he was. There seemed to be no connection between his only memories and this silent room. But were they memories, or dreams? He had dreamed of a woman, a warm and pliant woman, with eyes as clear and gray as a highland lake under cloudy skies, her hands tender as she caressed him, her velvety breasts swelling against his palms. His fingers twitched on the sheets; the dream was so real he almost ached to feel her under his hands.
Still, that had been only a dream, and he had to deal with reality. He lay there until certain things began to return, and he knew that they weren’t dreams. The attack on his boat; the endless, agonizing swim in the dark, driven on by his own sheer inability to give up. Then, after that… nothing. Not even a glimmer of what had happened.
