“There’s going to be a fight over there.” He pointed to a group of youths who were having a heated exchange.

  Although Carla couldn’t understand what was being said, she assumed from the angry sound of their words that they would soon be coming to blows. Her gaze was drawn to Philip, and she was witness to an abrupt change in roles taking place within him. After all, she was a policeman’s daughter. And Philip was an officer of the law. Once a cop, always a cop. He may be in Mazatlán, but he would never be entirely on vacation.

  Philip’s jaw hardened and his eyes narrowed with keen interest. Briefly he turned to her. “Stay here.” The words were clipped and low, and filled with an authority that would brook no resistance.

  Carla wanted to argue. Everything inside urged her to scream that this was none of his business. What right did he have to involve himself with those youths? Mexico had its own police force. She watched as Philip strode briskly across the street toward the angry young men. He asked them something in Spanish, and even from this distance Carla could hear the authority in his voice. She hadn’t a clue of what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. It was the law-enforcement officer in him speaking, anyway, and she didn’t want to know.

  Only one thing prompted her to stay. If the situation got ugly and Philip needed help, she could scream or do something to get him out of this mess. But he didn’t need her assistance, and a few minutes later the group broke up. With an amused grin, Philip jogged across the street to her side.

  “That was—”

  “I don’t care to know, thank you,” she announced frostily. Opening her large bag, she took out the several small items he’d purchased during their morning’s outing.

  “What’s this?” He looked stunned.

  “Your things,” she answered without looking up. “You couldn’t do it, could you?”

  “Do what?”

  Apparently, he still didn’t understand. “For once, just once, couldn’t you have forgotten you’re a cop? But no, Mr. Rescue had to speed to the scene of potential danger, defending truth and justice.”

  His face relaxed, and he reached for her. “Carla, couldn’t you see—”

  She sidestepped him easily. “You bet I saw,” she shot back angrily. “You almost had me fooled, Philip Garrison. For a while there I actually believed we could have shared a wonderful vacation. But it’s not going to work.” Her voice was taut with irritation. With unnecessary roughness, she dumped the packages into his arms. “Not even for a few days could either of us manage to forget what you are. Good-bye, Philip.” She spun and ran across the street, waving her hand, hoping to attract a pulmonía driver. At least she could be grateful that Philip didn’t make an effort to follow her. But that was little comfort…very little.

  A pulmonía shot past her, and Carla stamped her foot childishly. She wished she had paid closer attention to the Spanish phrase Philip had called to get the driver’s attention.

  Already she felt the perspiration breaking out across her face as she walked along the edge of the street. The late-morning sun could be torturous. Another driver approached, and Carla stepped off the curb and shouted something in Spanish, not sure what she’d said. With her luck, she mused wryly, it was probably something to do with Cookie Monster. But whatever it was worked, because the driver immediately pulled to the curb.

  “Hotel El Cid,” she mumbled, hot and miserable.

  “Sí, señorita, the man already say.”

  Man? Tossing a look over her shoulder, Carla found Philip standing on the other side of the street, studying her. He’d gotten the driver for her. If she hadn’t been so blasted uncomfortable, she’d have told him exactly what he could do with his driver. As it was, all Carla wanted to do was escape. The sooner, the better.

  * * *

  —

  Her room was refreshingly cool when she returned. She threw herself across the bed and stared at the ceiling. Tears might have helped release some of her frustration, but she was too mad to cry.

  After fifteen minutes, the hotel room gave her a bad case of claustrophobia. From her suitcase, Carla pulled the book she’d been reading on the airplane and opened the sliding glass door to the small balcony. A thorough inspection of the pool area revealed that Philip was nowhere in sight. Stuffing her book into her beach bag, Carla quickly changed into her swimsuit, slipping a cotton top over that, and put on the straw hat. Not for anything was she going to allow Philip Garrison to ruin this vacation.

  * * *

  —

  Carla was fortunate to find a vacant chaise longue. The pool was busy with the early-afternoon crowd. Several vacationers were in the water, eating lunch at the counter that was built up against the pool’s edge. Smiling briefly, Carla recalled her first glimpse of the submerged stools and wondered what this type of meal did to the theory of not swimming after eating.

  Spreading out her towel, Carla raised the back of the lounger so that she could sit up comfortably and read. Her sunglasses had a tendency to slip down the bridge of her nose, and without much thought she pushed them back up. Philip’s glasses did that occasionally. Angrily, she wiped his image from her mind and viciously turned the page of her suspense novel, nearly ripping it from the book.

  An older man who was lying beside her stood, stretched, and strolled lackadaisically toward the bar, seeking something cool to drink. He was barely out of sight when a familiar voice spoke in her ear.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  Carla’s fingers gripped the page, but she didn’t so much as acknowledge his presence. Without lifting her eyes from her book, she replied, “Yes, it is.”

  “That’s fine, I’ll just sit on the edge of the pool and chat,” he replied casually.

  Clenching her jaw so tight her teeth hurt, Carla turned a page, having no idea of what she had just read. “I’d appreciate it very much if you didn’t.”

  Forcefully, Philip expelled his breath. “How long are you going to be unreasonable like this? All I’m asking is that you hear me out.”

  “How long?” Carla repeated mockingly. “You haven’t got that much time. Never, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Do you mean it?” The question was issued so low, Carla had to strain to hear him.

  Idly, she turned the next page. “Yes, I meant it,” she replied.

  “Okay.” He took the towel, swung it around his neck, and strolled away.

  Carla felt a deep sense of disappointment settle over her. The least he could have done was argue with her! One would assume that after yesterday she meant more to him than that. But apparently not.

  Without being obvious, she glanced quickly around the pool area and discovered that Philip was nowhere in sight. Ten minutes later she did another survey. Nothing.

  Tucking the book inside her beach bag, Carla settled back in her seat, joined her hands over her stomach, and closed her eyes. A splash of water against her leg was more refreshing than irritating. But the cupful of water that landed on her upper thigh was a shock.

  Gasping, she opened her eyes and sat up to brush the offending wetness away.

  “Did I get water on you?” came the innocent question. “Please accept my apology.”

  “Philip Garrison, that was a rotten thing to do!” Inside she was singing. So he hadn’t left.

  “So was that last, untruthful remark.”

  “What remark?”

  “That you never wanted to talk to me again.” He lay down beside her on the chaise that had been previously taken by the older sunbather. “Obviously you did, or you wouldn’t have made two deliberate inspections of the pool to see if I had left.”

  She should have realized Philip had stayed and watched her. That was a rookie’s trick. And Philip was a seasoned officer. Rather than argue, she lifted her glasses and turned toward him with a smug look. “I told you that seat was taken,” she said, and repositioned herself so that the back of one hand rested against her brow. “And I don’t think he’d take kindly to you lying in his place when he returns.”

  “Sure he would,” Philip murmured confidently. “Otherwise I wasted ten very good dollars.”

  Struggling between outrage and delight, Carla sat up. “Do you mean to say you bribed him?” Her eyes widened as he nodded cheerfully. “What do you think you’re doing, Officer Garrison? First…First you spy on me and…then…and then…” She sputtered. “You bribe the man in the chair next to me. Just how low do you plan to stoop?”

  Philip yawned. “About that low.”

  Carla did an admirable job of swallowing her laughter.

  “I suspect you aren’t as annoyed as you’re letting on,” Philip commented.

  The humor died in her eyes. “What makes you suggest that?”

  “Well, you’re still here, aren’t you?”

  Standing up, Carla pulled the thin cotton covering over her head. “Not for long,” she replied, and dived into the pool.

  It felt marvelous. Swimming as far and for as long as she could under the aqua-blue water helped relieve some of her pent-up frustration. Finally, she surfaced and sucked in a large breath of fresh air. In the glint of the sun, her hair was decidedly red. Carla had hoped to avoid having Philip see it wet. Like everyone else, he was sure to comment on it. Swimming at night was preferable by far.

  She’d barely caught her breath when Philip surfaced beside her. Treading water at his side, she offered him a tremulous smile. “I really was angry this morning. I behaved childishly to run off like that. Thank you for seeing that I got a ride back to the hotel.”

  Their eyes met, and he grinned. “I know how angry you were; that’s why I didn’t follow you. But given time, I figured you’d forgive me.” His arms found her waist and brought her close to him. Their feet kicked in unison, keeping them afloat.

  “I’ll forgive you on one condition,” she stated firmly, and looped her arms around his neck. “You’ve got to promise not to do that again. Please, Philip. For me, leave your police badge in your room. We’re in Mexico, and they have their own defenders of justice.”

  Philip went still, and she could feel him become tense. The sparkle faded from his eyes as they darkened and became more intense. “Carla, I’ll do my best, but I can’t change who or what I am.”

  Her grip around his neck relaxed, and with a sense of defeat she lowered her eyes. “But don’t you see? I can’t, either,” she murmured miserably, and her voice fell to a whisper.

  His hold tightened as he brought his body intimately close to hers in the water. “But we can try.”

  “What would be the use?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said softly, and brushed aside the offending strands of wet hair from her cheek. “I can think of several things.” His lips replaced his fingers, and he blazed a trail of infinitely sweet kisses along her brow and eyes, working his way to her mouth.

  For an instant, Carla was caught in the rapture of his touch, but an abrupt noise behind them brought her to her senses. Breaking free, she shook her head. “I…I don’t know, Philip. I want to think on it.”

  “Okay, that sounds fair.”

  He didn’t have to be so agreeable! At least he could have argued with her. With a little sigh, Carla turned away and said, “I think I’ll go to my room and lie down for a while. The sun does me in fairly easily.” She started to swim away, then rapidly changed direction and joined Philip. “I almost forgot something,” she murmured, as she covered his mouth with hers and kissed him thoroughly.

  Obviously shaken, Philip blinked twice. “What was that for?” he asked, and cleared his throat.

  “For not mentioning my frizzy hair or the color.”

  He cocked his head, and a puzzled frown marred his brow. “There are several other things I haven’t mentioned that you may wish to thank me for.”

  “Later,” she said with a small laugh.

  “Definitely later.”

  Chapter 4

  Amazingly, Carla did sleep most of the afternoon. She hadn’t realized how exhausted she was. The sun, having taken its toll, had faded by the time she stirred. A glance at the clock told Carla that it was dinnertime. Although she hadn’t made any arrangements to meet Philip, she knew he’d be looking for her.

  Dressing quickly, she hunted for her sandals, crawling on the floor. Finally, she located them under the bed and was on her way into the bathroom to see what she could do with her hair when something stopped her. The faint sound of someone singing in Spanish drifted in past the balcony door that had been left ajar. Those deep male tones were unmistakable.

  After eagerly parting the draperies, Carla opened the sliding glass door farther. The music and voice grew stronger, and the lovingly familiar voice sang loudly off-key.

  “Philip!”

  Standing below, playing a guitar and singing at the top of his voice, was crazy, wonderful Philip. A band of curious onlookers had gathered around him. Now, however, they focused their attention on her.

  “You idiot,” she cried. “What are you doing?”

  “Serenading you,” he shouted, completely serious. “Do you like it?”

  “I’d like it a lot better if you sang on key.”

  He strummed a few bars. “Can’t have everything. Are you hungry?”

  “Starved. I’d eat turtle tacos.”

  “You must be famished. Hurry down, will you? I think someone might arrest me.”

  Stuffing her hair under her straw hat, Carla bounded down the stairs. She paused on the bottom step, straightened her dress, and took a deep breath. Then, feeling more composed, she turned the corner and found Philip relaxing on a chaise longue.

  “Hi,” she said, fighting the breathlessness that weakened her voice.

  He rose to his feet with an ease many would envy. “I must have sounded better than I thought.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  A grin played at the edges of his mouth as he dug inside his pocket and pulled out a handful of loose change. “People were obviously impressed. Soon after you went inside, several started throwing coins my way.”

  Fighting back the bubbling laughter, Carla looped her arm around his elbow. “I hate to disappoint you, Philip, but I have the distinct feeling they were paying you not to sing.”

  The sound of his laughter tugged at her heart. “Where are we going for dinner? I wasn’t teasing about being hungry.”

  “Anyplace you say.” Tucking her hand more securely in the crook of his arm, he escorted her through the hotel to the series of stairs that led to the busy street below.

  “Anyplace I say,” she repeated. “My, my, you’re agreeable all of a sudden.”

  “With a beautiful woman on my arm, and my pockets full of change, why shouldn’t I be?”

  She smiled, pleased by the compliment.

  “Then dinner wherever the lady chooses.”

  “Well, I suppose I’d better choose a restaurant where I won’t have to take off my hat. I didn’t wash my hair after our dip in the pool this afternoon, and now it resembles Raggedy Ann’s.”

  “Then it’s perfect for what I have in mind,” he said with an enigmatic toss of his head. Sandy locks of hair fell across his brow and he brushed them aside.

  “Well, are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?” she asked with a hint of impatience. She noticed that Philip had a way of arousing her curiosity, then dropping the subject. Her father did the same thing, and Carla briefly wondered if this was a common trait among policemen. They didn’t want to give out too much information—keep the world guessing seemed to be their intent. Other things about Philip reminded her of her father. He was a kind, concerned man. Like her father, he cared when the rest of the world didn’t want to be bothered.

  “Ever hear of La Gruta de Cerro del Crestón?” Philip asked, snapping her out of her musings.

  “He was some general, right?”

  “Wrong,” he responded with a trace of droll tolerance. “It’s a cave where, it’s rumored, pirates used to store their treasure. Stolen treasure, of course. It’s only accessible at low tide, but I thought we might pick up a picnic lunch and eat along the beach. Later, when the tide is low, we can explore the cave.”

  Carla’s interest was piqued. “That sounds great.”

  “And of course there’s always the advantage of having you to myself in a deep, dark cave.”

  “Honestly, Garrison, cool your hormones,” she joked. One of the hot-rod golf carts Philip enjoyed so much delivered them close to the lighthouse near the heart of the city. Holding her hat, Carla climbed out from the back of the cart. Her senses were spinning, and she doubted if she’d ever get used to riding in those suicidal contraptions. The short rides weren’t so bad, but anything more than three miles was like a death wish.

  A drop of rain hit her hand. Carla raised her eyes to examine the darkening sky and groaned inwardly. A storm would ruin everything. Besides, if Philip saw what happened to her hair in the rain, she’d never live it down. The frizzies invariably gave her a striking resemblance to the Bride of Frankenstein.

  “Philip?”

  Preoccupied for the moment, Philip paid the driver and returned the folded money to his pocket. “Something wrong?”

  “It’s raining.”

  “I know!”

  Twisting the strap of her purse, she swung it over her shoulder and secured the large-brimmed straw hat by holding it down over both ears. “Maybe we should go back to the hotel.”

  “Why?”

  She swallowed nervously. “Well, we obviously can’t have a picnic in the rain, and if…my hat should come off…well, my hair—”

  Suddenly, the sky opened up and the earth was bombarded with heavy sheets of rain. Giving a cry of alarm, Carla ran for shelter. Mud splashed against the backs of her legs, and immediately a chill ran up her arms.