Vanessa Loren was seated in one of the booths, oblivious to his presence—and all else, including the slightly inebriated college student attempting a rap number on stage. She was facing a man; Sean could see shoulders and a head of dark hair. She was speaking passionately, and seemed to be upset.
“Who is it?” Sean asked David, frowning. “I didn’t know Vanessa was in here.”
“I don’t know who it is, and you didn’t ask about her. We were talking. She saw that fellow in the doorway and excused herself, telling me it was an old friend she was surprised to see.”
“Really?” Sean said.
So who was the guy?
Yeah, right, and what was it to him?
That morning she had attracted him. In fact, he realized, he was more than attracted, and he didn’t want to be. He wanted everything professional, every single decision he made. But she had slipped into him, mind, soul and substance, since he had first seen her sitting here in O’Hara’s, and he wondered if that was why he had wanted to fight anything she had to say to him—it was far safer, it was far more professional not to be attracted to an employee, especially when employment started out with such a story.
All right, face it, he didn’t want her bothered by anyone. All right, in all honesty, he wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he didn’t want her there with anyone else.
He had no right to feel that way—he still barely knew her. A day of diving did not a long-term friend make, nor did standing near her, realizing just what a chemical mystique she possessed, give him the right to go interrupting her conversations with other men.
He stood. He suddenly felt as if he were a jealous boyfriend, irked that his girlfriend was flirting with someone else. Ridiculous feeling—but she had pursued him, determined on her course of action. And people had been murdered. He’d agreed to what she wanted—he did have a right to find out why she appeared to be so disturbed.
If she was happy speaking with an old friend, fine. But if she wasn’t, well, she had appealed to him for help in one way already.
Even as he approached the booth, he didn’t think that this was anyone with whom Vanessa had an intimate relationship. They were on opposite sides of the booth. Her hands went from the table to the air as she spoke but never touched his. When he was speaking, she sat leaning back, arms crossed over her chest, and she seemed annoyed.
He reached the end of the booth. The man was talking, but he fell silent when Sean arrived and started to get up. He was about Vanessa’s age, tall, well built and well bronzed, as if he spent a lot of time in the sun.
Sean set a hand on his shoulder. “Sit, sit, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt a conversation. I just came by to say hello to Vanessa.”
“Hello, Sean,” Vanessa said, her voice tight.
“Sean—Sean O’Hara?” the man asked.
“Yes. And…you are?”
The young man stood quickly, offering his hand. “Jay. Jay Allen.”
Jay Allen.
Producer, director and the man who had lost a small fortune because of the murders on Haunt Island.
“Please, sit down, please, please, join us,” Jay said.
Vanessa didn’t seem to want to have anyone—more specifically him—join them. Her jaw was set at a rigid angle and she stared at Jay as if her eyes were vivid blue daggers.
He was definitely going to join them.
Vanessa didn’t move; she didn’t look away from Jay and she appeared rigidly angry. Sean slid in beside Jay as he scooted to the inside edge of the booth.
“Frankly, I’m here to apply for work—with you,” Jay said.
Sean thought that Vanessa kicked Jay under the table.
“Oh?” Sean asked.
Jay nodded. “I heard that Vanessa was down here and that there were filmmakers about to embark on a historical documentary. I was working—filming tourists while they played with dolphins—in the Bahamas.”
“I see,” Sean said.
“I’m— Honestly, I know everything—or at least something about everything—from shooting, lighting, sound, editing, you name it. Seriously, ask Vanessa. Oh, and I have a boat. It’s got some equipment. I can work anything on any vessel you’ve got, my diving certificate is a master’s and I wash dishes,” he said. “I’ve directed, but don’t worry—it’s not an obsession. I can take direction, as well.”
Jay seemed earnest. It was just too bizarre—him being here, right after he had agreed to film in the direction Vanessa had petitioned.
Or maybe it wasn’t bizarre at all. Vanessa was here. Maybe she’d been elected to be the one to get under his skin and get it all going.
He stared at Vanessa. Obviously, she knew what he was thinking. Or she had known exactly what his thoughts might naturally be once Jay had shown up.
“I didn’t know Jay was coming in,” she said flatly.
“Sure,” he said.
“Hey, look, I just arrived with a tremendous amount of hope,” Jay said. “I went down like a lead balloon in all that, you have to realize.”