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  Mel’s brain had been racing since Greg’s call, pounding with what if’s—if Bo hadn’t gone into the military, if he’d gone through his father’s things sooner, if, if, if…

  In any of those scenarios, she and everyone here would have been gone years ago.

  The implications of that staggered her. All this time she’d never been in charge, not of her life, not of this place…

  Ernest was in the parking lot, and as she came out he looked at his watch. “You’re punching out early.”

  “It’s five thirty.”

  “Early for you.”

  “I wasn’t the one who wasted two hours this afternoon napping in the storage closet.”

  “Maybe you’ve been napping with your eyes open.”

  A more real truth had never been spoken. “You ever trace that e-mail?”

  He took off his cap, scratched his greasy head, then narrowed his beady eyes on her. “I told you I was working on it. Why?”

  “I got another one.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m glad I’m not you,” he said.

  “Can you trace it or not?”

  “I’ll look,” he said, and hitching up his pants, moved toward the building. “But it’d be helpful if you stopped doing whatever you’re doing to get them mad in the first place.”

  Yeah, she’d just stop what she was doing—except she didn’t know what that was.

  Then it hit her—she did know. It was that she was tracing the deed—looking for Sally.

  Feeling more fragile than fine china, she got into her car. She picked up a pizza, then drove to Dimi’s.

  Dimi opened her door, took one look at the box, and blew out a breath. “You know how I feel about carbs.”

  “It’s thin crust.”

  “Well, all right, then.” She made a show of looking around Mel. “At least you didn’t bring him.”

  “Who?”

  “Him. You know, bastard Bo.”

  “Dimi—”

  “Sorry.” But she didn’t sound like it.

  Dimi wore a pale, pale yellow sundress that revealed her willowy lean form. They sat on the beach, bare toes in the sand, watching the waves pound the surf while they consumed the pizza and a beer each.

  Light for Dimi.

  Not light for Mel.

  Dimi daintily sipped her beer as if this was high tea, the bracelets on her wrists jangling, a frown on her mouth. She brushed the nonexistent crumbs from her fingers. “Well. The evening is still young. I’ve got to go live it.”

  “We should talk about it, Dimi.”

  “Why?”

  “It’d be the mature thing to do.”

  “Damn. I hate it when you’re grown-up.” She played her toes in the sand. “I don’t get it, Mel. Why would she do this to us and never say a word about it? Why would she let us think everything was status quo?” Her voice thickened with tears. “Hell, we were sending her money. Money that wasn’t even hers.”

  Mel shook her head. She felt sick about it, too.

  “The only thing I can think is, she somehow lost the deed to him in an unfair bet or something, and by letting us send her money, she was trying to get back what Eddie had stolen from her.” Dimi looked up at her, hopeful once more. “That has to be it, Mel.”

  “Then why didn’t she return my call? Why did she change her number?”

  Dimi closed her eyes, shook her head stubbornly. “Something’s wrong.”

  “I’m afraid so, yes.”

  “We have to help her.”

  Mel made a pained sound. Help Sally? She’d have loved to. Only Sally didn’t want their help and they both knew it. “Dimi—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “She crossed the line. She stole money. She had us steal money.”

  “But there’s a reason.” Her voice shook. “I know it.”

  Mel reached for Dimi’s hand. “Listen to me. I don’t know what’s going on. Like you, I want to believe there’s been a mistake. Okay? We’re together in that. We’re together in all of it. No matter what happens.”

  Dimi squeezed Mel’s fingers. “I know. You’re my family, Mel. But things are going to change. It’s going to suck. You know that.”

  “Maybe Bo won’t—”

  “Honey, you’re the smartest woman I know, don’t go stupid on me now.”

  Mel blew out a breath. “I’m going to talk to him.”

  “Talk to him? Or do him?”

  Were Mel’s nightly dreams all over her face? It didn’t help that she hadn’t actually seen Bo since the other night, when she’d had to strip in front of him and let him hose her off. Since she’d let him put his hands all over her…God. “I’m not doing him.”

  “Uh-huh. And I’m still a virgin.”

  “I’m not.” But she wanted to be. What did that say about her, that she wanted the man who was poised to tear apart her entire world?

  “Okay, maybe not yet, you’re not doing him,” Dimi allowed. “But the signs are there.”

  Mel pushed up and stalked down to the ocean. “Signs. There are no signs. What signs?”

  “Well, that right there,” Dimi pointed out dryly. “The defensiveness is a dead giveaway, hon.”

  Mel kicked the wave at her feet. “Damn it.”

  “No one can blame you. I mean the guy’s a walking, talking fantasy. But honestly, if you’re looking to dip your toes into the testosterone pool, then let me help you pick a better one.”

  “Uh, no offense, but I’ve seen your choices.”

  “Yeah.” Dimi sighed. “True enough.”

  “Look, I’m tired.” So damned tired. “I’m going home to bed.”

  “I vote for Madigan’s.”

  Madigan’s was the local bar, where no doubt she’d find Kellan and Ritchie, and a whole host of others looking for a good time. Normally Mel would consider it, for no other reason than to keep Dimi out of trouble, but tonight it seemed exhausting. “Not tonight.”

  “Suit yourself.” Dimi picked up the box of pizza.

  “Dimi? We’re going to be okay.”

  Dimi’s smile didn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

  Mel nodded.

  But they were both lying through their teeth.

  The next day, Mel brought Bo’s shirt into North Beach, washed but not ironed, and went in search of him. Time to face the music. She passed Kellan and Ritchie in the employee’s break room playing darts, then Danny sprawled on a cart beneath the aircraft tow truck in the maintenance hangar, swearing up a storm.

  In the back of that hangar Ernest was talking to a spider in the supply closet.

  “Where’s Bo?” she asked him.

  Ernest carefully coaxed the spider into a jar, which Mel knew he’d take outside. “Tie-down.”

  Right. He was on the tarmac, either conducting a tie-down or getting ready to. The lingo had been a part of Mel’s vocabulary for years, and was second nature. So why she got another image altogether—one of Bo Black physically tied down, possibly naked (okay, definitely naked) shocked her into immobility.

  Ernest frowned, peering into her face. “What’s with you?”

  Her mouth had gone dry. She cleared it. “Nothing.” Whirling around, she marched to the tarmac.

  Bo stood there doing a preflight check on his plane, consulting a clipboard. Taking a deep breath, she refused to note how good he looked in shorts and a clean white T-shirt. She stalked up to him, slapped his other shirt against his chest, then took a big step back and a bigger mental one.

  Bo looked down at the shirt in his hand, then back at Mel. “You okay?”

  “Yes.”

  He hooked a finger in the neckline of her top and pulled the neck out to take a peek inside.

  “Hey!” She batted at his hand.

  He stepped back with a smile. “Just checking your skin. No burns.”

  “I told you!” In disbelief she felt her nipples harden.

  Noticing, he wa