Dark Waters (2013) (31 page)

“Please don’t hurt him.” The idea of anyone being murdered for trying to defend her was unbearable.

“Behave yourself and no one will get hurt.”

“He’s worth millions,” she nodded toward Harvey, who started coughing. “His family will pay to get him back.”

The bald guy didn’t look impressed. “Unless he’s got sixty to spare, it’s no dice.”

“Sixty thousand?” She eyed Harvey with a hopeful smile. His eyes opened and lit up.

“Sixty
million
,” the guy sneered.

Harvey’s expression fell and Katherine pursed her lips.

“It would take a few days,” Harvey said as if mentally tallying his assets. “Let Katherine go and I’ll start making the arrangements.”

Katherine gaped. He had to be bluffing. The bald man’s gaze narrowed, considering.

She didn’t know if that was good or bad for their chances of survival, so she decided to change the subject. “Why would kidnapping
me
help you get sixty million dollars?” And suddenly she knew, and if Davis hadn’t been dead, she’d have killed him herself.

“Like I said, behave yourself and no one will get hurt. You’re just here to provide a little incentive to someone else.”

The only people who cared about her were Ed and Anna.
Anna
. Sweet Jesus. “If you touch my daughter, I swear to God—” He braced his dirty shoe on her shoulder and pushed. She fell hard against Harvey and he tried to cushion her fall with his body.

Their captor smiled. “We just want our money, lady. No one has to get hurt.”

He turned and left them in a tangled heap. She felt Harvey’s heart beating against her ribs and absorbed some of his heat while she tried to get her emotions and limbs back under control.

“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” Harvey said mildly.

Katherine gave a small laugh. “I don’t see her very often.” And then she burst into tears.

Brent heard the kids before he saw them, and watched Boomer rocket out of the woods and into the lake like a torpedo. He grinned. Life didn’t get much happier than a dog chasing a stick in the water.

Maybe he
should
get a dog. Hell, if he survived the next week without going to jail, he’d adopt a whole damn pack. They’d be good security.

When he’d come back from his swim, Anna had been dozing, and when she’d woken up, he’d made her a ham roll for lunch out of the supplies they’d brought with them. A meager peace offering, but a necessary one.

He’d been an asshole and she deserved better. He didn’t know how anyone calling himself a man could force himself on a woman, but he knew plenty of animals who liked to take advantage of the vulnerable. He wasn’t an animal and he had no intention of taking advantage of Anna, no matter how much he wanted her. She’d been through hell and he was determined to get her through this mess and out the other side, alive, intact, and ready to move on to a better life. The trouble was, Anna had other ideas.

They’d both relaxed and caught some sun. They were about to head back to the tent for the night, having stayed on the beach for as long as they possibly could—avoiding the intimacy of the small canvas shelter because he didn’t know how long he’d last if she started kissing him again.

“Wait up,” he ordered. Anna stopped, hands full of towels and books and the bag of bare essentials they’d brought with them in case they’d had to flee.

She stood in front of him with her light honey-colored hair glinting in the dying rays of the sun, those intelligent green eyes hidden behind film-star sunglasses. He squeezed out a tube of sunscreen and slathered her nose to protect a burn that was starting to form. She just shook her head at him and started up the beach again.

“Can I see your pictures?” A high-pitched voice squeaked loudly from behind him.
Shit
. Where’d she come from?

The little girl barely reached his thigh. She looked up at him with massive brown eyes. He cleared his throat. “Sure.” Kids usually avoided him, not that he saw that many on his private beach.

He dropped down to his knees and spread the paintings out. They were just loose sketches. More a reminder of color and form. He might work up something bigger when he got home.
If
he got home. He released a deep breath.

“I like that one.” She pointed to one that had a tiny picture of Boomer dancing beside a figure by the water. He knelt down,
found a pencil, and signed it. “Here. It’s yours.” He held it out but she refused to take it.

“Mommy says I’m not allowed to take gifts from strangers.”

Great, now he was going to get busted as a pervert. He heard the other kids come up to where he knelt in the sand. The eldest boy continued to throw the stick for Boomer, who splashed like a lunatic. A fickle friend. Brent grinned though. The dog’s enthusiasm for living in the moment was contagious.

“I like that one.” Another girl, an older sister judging from the matching brown eyes, pointed at a picture that he thought was technically the best, but lacked emotion.

“I like that one.” The little boy pointed to a picture that showed the rocks off to the side of the lake.

Brent signed them all. Added a fourth for the kid on dog duty.

“Are you an artist or something?” the older girl asked as she admired the picture he’d given her.

“Or something.”

Her eyes were bright and captivated. It was kind of cool to see their reaction to his work. A million times more satisfying than any New York gallery opening.

“You should keep them safe,” he told the kids. “Hold on to them.”
They might pay your way through college someday
. He gathered his other paintings, including the one of Anna he’d never part with, and picked up his stuff and turned to find her watching from a seat on a fallen log.

“Your girlfriend looks funny with that stuff on her nose,” said the youngest girl who’d started all this.

The idea of Anna as his girlfriend twisted something up inside him, but this was Pretendland, so he smiled and hoped the kid didn’t notice it skipped his eyes. “I think she’s beautiful anyway.” His heart gave a nasty little clench. What he was feeling didn’t feel like pretend, it felt like warm longing and desperate want. And he didn’t deserve a woman like Anna. He never would.

As he jogged up the beach, he forced himself to cool it. He just had to get through the next couple of days and then maybe he’d get home with some measure of redemption for all the mistakes he’d made in the past. Anna’s life was in the States teaching little kids. Even if they got out of this alive, he was poison to her life and career, and he had no intention of dragging her down to his level.

That evening they skirted around each other politely, as if they both realized their relationship had shifted but neither knew how to deal with it. Anna went to bed when it got dark, but he stayed outside until he was sure she was asleep. Then he lay there on the sleeping mat, mesmerized by the sound of her breathing so close beside him.

He woke and immediately knew Anna was gone. He groped around in the dark. The flashlight was missing. His pulse drummed. He struggled with the zipper trying to get the stupid tent flap open.
Don’t panic
. She’d probably just gone to the bathroom.

Sure, don’t panic, asshole
. People were trying to kill her, and Anna wasn’t exactly thinking straight after everything she’d been through. He poked his head outside the tent, the fresh breeze whipping across his face.
There
. A flash of light down by the water. A feeling of dread reached inside his chest and pummeled his heart.

He stumbled out of the tent, tripping over the guyline. Bright moonlight guided him, though he jarred his ankle running on the uneven ground. He vaulted the fallen log onto the sandy beach. A small pile of clothes were folded neatly in the middle of the sand, the flashlight dumped on top. His heart stopped beating. She was upset. Her father had died and he’d rejected her. He was such a fucking asshole.

She’d said she hadn’t swum since the night she’d almost drowned. He scanned the dark water, but there was no sign of her.

She can’t do this.

He ran, blood pounding so hard it formed a terrifying roar in his ears. He wouldn’t let her give up. He tore off his shirt and ran
full speed, diving into the water. His body cut through the surface and he ignored the blast of cold that stunned his senses. He saw a flash of pale skin. Swimming fast, he reached out and grabbed her arm. They broke the skin of the water in a confusing spray.

“Let go of me!” She fought and kicked and, when he wouldn’t let go, she struggled so frantically they both went under.

When they bobbed back to the surface, he pulled her against him. “I’m not letting you do this.” They went under again.

“You’re going to drown me,” she spluttered when they surfaced again.

She was naked. He knew this because his arm was clamped around her chest, her skin like slippery silk. Her nails weren’t quite so sensual as they bit into his arms as she tried to dislodge him. He wasn’t letting go.

He dragged her, kicking, swearing, onto shore. Her legs tangled with his and they both went down in the shallows. He pinned her beneath him, so furious, so mad that she’d do this to herself, to him. Like life was nothing to her.
He
was nothing.

“Why would you throw it all away, Anna? Why would you just give up?” He gripped her shoulders and her eyes morphed from anger to sudden understanding.

She touched his face, her expression softening. “I just went swimming, Brent.” Her thumb touched his lips and a shiver of heat shot through him at odds with the coldness of the lake. Her hair floated in the water. Eyes, colorless in the silvery light, glistened with memories. “I needed to wash off everything that happened, get back into the water, and prove I’m not afraid anymore.” She thrust her jaw out at him. She had good reason to be afraid.

Shit
.

He closed his eyes. He’d seen she was gone and panicked like a fool.

They lay for a moment on the shoreline, straddling water and sand. Then his mouth went dry as he figured that not only was she naked, he was planted in the cradle of her hips like a man on his
way to heaven. That intimate connection was all it took for someone who’d gone a year without a woman to become fully aroused.

She froze. He went to roll off her, but she kissed him. She was like heat and moonlight as she tasted his lips, his tongue. He banked the terror he’d been feeling and let her play with his mouth. Lust and want rammed his bloodstream as their tongues met, but they weren’t doing this. He wasn’t penance. He was just another mistake, another way of punishing herself.

Who was he kidding? He was the one punishing himself, and it was killing him not to just take what she offered.

Her hands touched his face, and he cradled her lightly in his embrace. Desire heated his body, his skin hot enough to singe, and he wanted to crawl all over her and drive himself deep. Her hands slid over his chest. Lower.

Finally she came up for air. “So, if kissing tells you so much about a person, then why does kissing you feel so good?”

Her question was a punch in the gut. He forced himself to pull away, to climb to his feet. Kissing Anna did feel good, it felt great. He didn’t know if her response to him was ordinary or not, but he sure as hell enjoyed how she’d unraveled in his arms. Some people might consider him worldly and experienced, but when it came to women, he was anything but. He’d been with Gina. That was it. Women had written to him in prison, but he was of the belief that anyone who wrote to a stranger serving a life sentence for murder had more than a screw loose—they were nucking futs. Or lonely. And he might be alone, but he wasn’t lonely. At least he hadn’t been until he’d met Anna.

She moved closer, her breasts brushed his chest, and his blood took a nosedive. He knew how to back away, to say no, and shut someone down. Despite his brain screaming warning signals, none of that was happening right now. Her arms wound around his neck and she stood on tiptoes, every inch of her small perfect naked body rubbing against his and making lust snake through his blood like red-hot whiskey.

“Anna.” His voice dropped to a rough growl. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”