"Lucky you, that you're perpetually in the presence of a Reid gal."

"That's for sure."

Savannah put the perishables in the refrigerator while he popped himself a beer.

She held up a plastic cake carrier. "Granny's carrot cake, with cream cheese frosting."

"Did I say I minded carting that thing all the way here? No. I did not say I minded. Not one little bit."

"We need to call the gang," Savannah said as she peeled the top off the cake carrier. "I promised Tammy I would."

"No rush. Ryan and John can handle any problems she comes up with, and your grandma's feeding them, so they're all fine . . . uh . . . without us . . . for a little while. . . ."

His concentration lapsed as he watched her drag her forefinger across the top of the cake, then slowly, sensuously lick the frosting from her fingertip.

She noticed him watching her. "Oh, sorry. I'll cut your piece from somewhere else when we have it tonight."

He swallowed hard. "Uh, yeah. Okay. Whatever."

Slowly she made another pa.s.s through the frosting and held up her finger. "Want some?"

Without a word, he hurried around the table, took her hand in his, and guided her finger to his mouth.

For what seemed like a very long, delicious time, he licked away every molecule of cream cheese.

By the time he was finished, she was leaning, weak-kneed, against the cupboard behind her.

The next thing she knew, their arms were wrapped tightly around each other. And they were kissing-as though they had just discovered a wonderful new pastime-and sliding down onto the wooden floor.

"I'm sorry. Did you want to go upstairs first . . . get in the bed, where it's more comfortable?" he asked breathlessly as clothing began to come off and sail through the air.

"No!" she said. "No, I do not!"

"Oh, good! Me neither!"

Chapter 11.

"I've never experienced afterglow on a kitchen floor before," Savannah said as she and Dirk lay side by side and stared up at the bottom of the table.

Dirk squinted and reached up to touch a small, dark spot on the underside of it. "Is that a piece of gum?"

"I think so. Leave it alone."

He turned onto his side, propped himself up onto one elbow, and looked down at her. "To be honest, till very recently, I haven't glowed all that much. Not anywhere. Not before, during, or after."

"Yeah, me either. Why you reckon that is?"

He twisted one of her dark curls around his forefinger and thought a few moments before answering. "From the time I met you, Van, I didn't really want anybody else. I mean, the opportunities were there, but I wasn't all that into it. I wanted you. And I didn't think I could ever have you, so . . . I was sorta stuck."

"Me too. Sometimes I wonder, if I hadn't had that close call, would we have just gone on like that forever?"

He leaned down and kissed her.

As he did, she had the distinct feeling it was more to keep her from saying any more about that painful subject than it was for romance.

In some ways, she thought her near-death experience had hurt him even more than it had her. She seemed to be recovering from it emotionally faster than he was.

So she returned his kiss and let the subject go for the time being. Why cause him needless pain? What was past was past.

When he finally allowed her to come up for air, she said, "Are you hungry? Should we attack that fried chicken Granny sent?"

"You betcha! I-"

A loud, rapid knocking on the front door made them both jump.

They sat up abruptly, and Dirk smacked his head on the table.

"Who the h.e.l.l is that?" he said, more than a little annoyed.

Savannah scrambled to collect her clothes, which were scattered to the four winds. "I don't know, but I can't imagine any of our gang would be rude enough just to drop by without phoning first."

"If it's any of them, I'm kicking 'em to the curb, no matter who it is. Except Granny, that is, of course."

He got his jeans on before she could wriggle into all of her female paraphernalia. After only two days of marriage, she had learned that he could shower and get completely dressed in less time than it took her to get the girls tucked neatly into her bra.

Apparently, there were some advantages to being male.

Another round of knocks sounded throughout the house. "Hold on!" Dirk shouted. "We're coming, for Pete's sake! You don't have to break it down!"

Savannah had a sinking feeling as she followed him through the kitchen and the dining area and into the living room. She thought of that guy at the ferry dock, taking their pictures, and the little clandestine conversation he'd had with his fellow crewman after they'd pa.s.sed by.

The third round of knocks reminded Savannah of someone else's style of knocking-Dirk's-when he wanted somebody to be aware of his authority as a cop.

As she pa.s.sed the end table, where they had both placed their weapons when they'd entered, she grabbed the guns and shoved them under the sofa cushion.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dirk saw her. "Good idea," he muttered.

Then he strode to the door and yanked it open.

"What?" he barked, as loudly and as cranky as Savannah had ever heard him.

On the other side of the doorway stood a black suit. And the woman in it looked as crabby as he did.

"Chief La Cross," Dirk said. "What a pleasure to . . . Oh, h.e.l.l, who am I kidding? No, it's not. What do you want?"

The chief took a step closer to the doorway. "I want to know why you're back on my island."

Savannah stepped forward to stand beside Dirk. Her hands were on her hips. "Your island?" she snapped. "Since when is it your island? I thought y'all were a property of the United States of America. Last I checked, folks were free to come and go here as they pleased, as long as they weren't breaking any laws."

"Which you two have done!" La Cross looked them both up and down with contempt in her dark eyes.

For some reason, the thought ran through Savannah's mind that Dirk wasn't wearing a shirt. And everybody knew what happened to guys who had their shirt off when law enforcement came calling at the door.

"You listen here!" Dirk said, his face getting redder by the moment. "My wife and I are just trying to enjoy our honeymoon, and-"

"That is not all you're doing here, and don't insult my intelligence by lying to me!" the chief shouted back.

Savannah decided it was time to defuse this situation with a bit of Southern charm, if at all possible, before she and Dirk both ended up on some sort of chain gang.

"Now, now, Chief La Cross," she said in her supersweet, patient voice. "What do you think we're doing here on Santa Tesla, if not enjoying our honeymoon?"

"You weren't here last night or earlier today. You went back to the mainland. While you were there, you defied my orders and did exactly what I told you not to do."

Savannah fought down her temper and stayed chocolate bonbon sweet-chocolate bonbons stuffed with cayenne pepper. "How, pray tell, did we do that?"

"You compromised a homicide investigation by leaking important information to the press," La Cross said. "Information I specifically asked you to keep to yourself."

"Oh!" Dirk said. "So, now it's a homicide. Last night on the news, it was an accidental drowning. We were wondering how you morons figure somebody could 'accidentally' get shot, numerous times, while they're out for a morning swim."

"A morning swim in a designer business suit, that is," Savannah said.

"Yeah, wearing fancy high heels and carrying a designer purse," Dirk added. "Someone blatantly lied to the press, Chief La Cross. Was it you who released that false statement?"

The chief's face flushed a shade darker, and Savannah saw her fists clench tightly at her sides. "You two have no idea what you're dealing with here, or how you've complicated an already difficult situation. I should arrest you both right now."

"On what charge?" Savannah wanted to know.

"Obstruction of justice, for one thing."

"What justice?" Dirk asked. "There's no justice here that we can see. You won't even admit the poor gal was murdered. How the h.e.l.l are you gonna find out who killed her?"

Chief La Cross glanced right and then left, as though she suspected someone were standing nearby, eavesdropping.

Savannah thought how stupid that was, considering the nearest building was the gift shop-and that was two hundred yards away.

"I'm telling you," La Cross said, "that if I hear, one more time, that you two have been running around, talking about this case, I swear I will lock you up. You can believe me, or you can spend your honeymoon incarcerated. I don't care if you are a decorated police officer and a hotshot private detective."

She turned on her heel and marched away, back to a big, shiny black sedan parked in front of the cottage and the uniformed driver waiting behind the wheel.

As they watched her get into the car, Savannah reached for Dirk's hand. "I guess the television station manager gave her a call."

"Sure he did. Wouldn't you? I'll bet he told her off about the false information she gave him about his reporter."

"Edward looked a little on the wimpy side, but I got the idea he thought a lot of Amelia."

The sedan pulled away, stirring up a cloud of dust in its wake. Savannah and Dirk closed the door and went back inside.

"So, did she put the fear o' G.o.d in ya?" Dirk asked Savannah, with a playful wink.

"Oh, she made me reconsider my future plans. That's for sure. I was intending to sleep in tomorrow morning; but after her telling me I couldn't go talking to anybody about the case, I figure I'll get up bright and early and run over to Ryan and John's place. Now that I've talked to the lovely Chief La Cross, I'm determined to get crackin' as soon as possible."

Later, after a dinner of Granny's fried chicken and a long bubble bath in the oversized tub, Savannah and Dirk climbed onto the soft, feather bed mattress.

"Ah, this is heavenly," she said, "and if you don't think so, don't you say a word, 'cause nothing puts me in a worse mood than listening to your complaining."

"Me complain! Why, I'm as easygoing as they come. Go-with-the-Flow Coulter, that's what they call me."

"That's not what they call you," she said with a giggle as she pulled the quilt with its nautical designs up to her chin. "Believe me, I've heard what they call you, and that ain't it."

He laughed, reached over and tickled her under the chin. "Well, I don't give a hoot what they call me, as long as you call me sweet names."

"Like what?"

"Love of my life, lord of my castle, king of my-"

"Get real." She pinched him in the ribs. "You know, I was thinking . . . I never told her you were a decorated police officer."

"And I never mentioned what a hotshot private detective you are."

"I am?"

"Sure."

"So, how did she know that?"

"Apparently, nasty ol' Chief La Cross has some investigation skills, after all."

"Good. Maybe she'll put them to good use and figure out who murdered Amelia Northrop."

"Wouldn't that be nice? Then we could get back to doing what's really important . . . finding out how many times a newlywed couple in their forties can do it without blowing a fuse."

They giggled and disappeared under the quilt.

A few minutes later, the clipper ships and sailboats on the quilt were rocking on the stormy sea of love.

True to her word, Savannah-and Dirk, because she gave him no choice-got an early start the next morning. It was barely past eight when the taxi pulled up to Ryan and John's borrowed vacation home and dropped them off.

"Woo-hoo," she said as they stood in the stone-paved driveway and took in the property, which looked more like a resort than a home. "This is awesome."

Instead of one large structure, the estate consisted of three separate A-frame cottages, on three different levels, joined by covered walkways. On a fourth, lower level, they could see an infinity pool, an oversized hot tub, and a cabana. The architecture had a Polynesian feel to it, with thatched roofs, bamboo fencing, lush tropical foliage, and carved stone and wood statues placed near waterfalls and fire pits.

"Must be nice, being Ryan and John, with friends in high places," she said.