Anne slid from the bed, tramped to the bathroom, dressed quickly, and left his house without even a good-bye. Thorn hustled down the stairs after her, but she beat him to her car and was gone in a hail of pebbles.
She never returned to Thorn’s house and would only smile brightly at him when he showed up at her apartment to talk, giving no reply to his questions and finally asking him to leave.
Over time Thorn came to believe that the bond he and Anne had forged in that month of ravenous lust was simply too flimsy to support the sudden, unwieldy bulk of her past. Maybe later on if the structure had grown more secure and their trust more solid it would’ve been fine. God knew, Thorn’s own story could match hers death for death and shame for shame. But it was too early in the cycle for such a heavy dose of truth, and their fragile bond had crumbled to powder in that instant of confession.
Later, when Thorn returned to the memory of that evening, the seeds of what was to come were so obvious in Anne’s story, the warnings so goddamn clear. If only somehow he’d managed to grasp the prophetic hints, he would have climbed out of bed that very night, loaded his pistol, and driven a few miles down the Overseas Highway to kill one particular man – an act that would have spared many from death and shielded a young girl from terrible harm, that blameless, intelligent kid who was as close to a daughter as Thorn had ever known.
On that warm Sunday afternoon, when Thorn got back from the john, the drinks were just arriving. He and Alexandra Collins were at a table for six on the outside deck at the Lorelei in Islamorada. The sheer February light had turned the spacious bay to a brilliant blue mica. Over at the rail Lawton and Sugarman and his twin girls were peering down at the resident school of tarpon that threaded between the pilings.
‘Hey, stranger,’ the waitress said as she set their beers down on the table and put the Cokes in front of the empty places.
Thorn stumbled for a half-second, fetching for her name.
‘Oh, hey, Anne. How’s it going?’
‘Just another day in paradise,’ she said. ‘How about yourself?’
‘Fine, fine.’
She bent forward and pressed her lips to his. Inhaling that familiar scent of her shampoo, lime and something herbal, Thorn had a quick cascade of memories, a blur of nights together, their bodies knotted, sheets kicked to the floor. The final story that broke their bond for good.
More than a year had passed since Thorn had last seen Anne Joy. In her early thirties, she still kept her auburn hair cropped short, and her dark eyes had the same electric shine. Thin-lipped, with soft cheekbones, a sleek and coppery complexion, and the coolly impassive smile of a runway model. But her body was far too lushly proportioned for that profession, and no matter what bulky and unflattering styles Anne wore, she couldn’t conceal it.
She stepped back from the table and clutched her tray against her breasts.
Alexandra was looking up at Anne with a curious arch of eyebrow.
‘I think we’ll wait on the order,’ Thorn said. ‘Kids are feeding the fish.’
‘Sure, okay,’ she said. ‘Be back in a few.’
She took a second look at Alexandra, then gave Thorn a quick, approving smile and turned and set off toward her other tables.
‘I’m sorry,’ Thorn said. ‘I should’ve introduced you.’
‘So this is another one?’ Alex said.
‘Another what?’
‘Oh, come on, Thorn. Do you usually kiss your waitress? And this time don’t tell me you two were just old high school friends. She’s ten years too young.’
Alex shook her head, her smile wearing thin.
‘Hey, it’s a small town,’ he said. ‘Limited supply of single women.’
Alexandra tasted her Heineken. She watched Sugarman’s girls fling bits of bread into the water. The Lorelei was packed, tourists lining up to be seated.
‘Was it serious?’
‘A month maybe. Not serious, no.’
‘A month by my definition is fairly noteworthy.’ Alex peered into his eyes, cocking her head slightly, as if searching for a flicker of deceit.
‘We didn’t click,’ he said. ‘Anne’s a little intense, bottled-up.’
‘Not laidback and gregarious like you.’
She shook her head and looked out at the hazy blue of the bay, a flats boat skimming past, the white rip of foam behind it.
‘Oh, come on. You can’t be jealous. You know how I feel about you.’
‘It’s just amazing,’ she said. ‘Everywhere we go there’s another one.’
‘I’ve lived here all my life,’ Thorn said.
‘Yeah, and it’s a small town. But still.’
‘Look, I’m no ladies’ man,’ Thorn said.
‘What would you call it then?’
Thorn knew better than to field that one. He poured the rest of his Red Stripe into the stein and watched the foam rise exactly to the brim, not a single trickle running down the side – another of his highly refined, utterly useless motor skills. When he looked up, Alexandra was smiling at him, but her eyes still had a stern edge.
‘You heard of Vic Joy?’ he asked her.
‘Name sounds familiar.’
‘Owns half the upper Keys,’ Thorn said. ‘Not a big favorite with law enforcement. Runs that casino boat behind the Holiday Inn, owns a dozen marinas and waterfront joints from Islamorada to Key Largo. Doesn’t pay a lot of attention to what’s legal, what’s not. Has a whole law firm working for him full-time to keep him out of jail. In the past fifteen, twenty years, there’ve been a half-dozen murders with Vic Joy’s name floating around in the background. Then witnesses change their story, refuse to cooperate, or flat out disappear. That kind of guy. Anne never tells anyone she’s Vic’s sister, but people know.’
‘Brother’s a big-shot hoodlum, but she’s still a waitress.’
‘There’s some tension between them. Plus Vic spies on her. Checks out her boyfriends, lets them know they’re swimming in serious waters. First week we went out, he stopped by the house, asked me a lot of questions. Took a good look around. Started giving me a list of dos and don’ts.’
‘I bet you were very polite.’
‘Things started to go wrong when I grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him back to his car and threw him inside.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘I lost it,’ he said. ‘This crook lecturing me about good manners.’
‘You were willing to risk the gangster’s wrath to keep playing around with his sister.’
‘Come on, Alex. Let it go.’
‘You have a long and sordid past, Thorn. I’m continually surprised.’
‘Point is,’ he said, ‘Anne and I didn’t mesh. And you and I do.’
‘Is that what you call it? We’re meshing?’
‘I think that’s an accurate description. Yeah, I’ll stand by that.’
He tried to smile his way past this mess, but Alex wasn’t buying just yet.
Lawton ambled back to the table and sat down. Alex gave Thorn’s shoulder a quiet stroke. Okay, interrogation over, all forgiven. Sort of.
Lawton