Give Him the Slip (5 page)

The snake made Maddie recall her dip-as-a-distraction, and a heavy
sigh escaped her lips. What was she going to do? Terri/Terry Winston couldn't
help her. What little she knew about Luke Callahan didn't give her warm fuzzies
at the thought of confessing all to the man. Nope, from what she could tell,
she was up the bayou without a savior.

Guess she'd just have to figure out a way to save herself.

So, how to do it? She'd pondered the problem while taking her
shower, and she'd made a mental note of all her options, ending up with two
whole items on her list. She could dump the drugs in the bayou and not go home
again. That'd mean giving up her home, her business. She'd probably have to
turn to her father for financial support and that would open up another can of
worms.

Her other choice was to roll the dice and ask ex-agent Callahan
for help. That'd most likely mean spilling all her beans and thus risking her
physical freedom.

Which, she wondered, would be worse?

Maddie loved her father, she truly did, but he'd put strings on
any help he gave her, and she didn't want to live her life in the paparazzi's
camera lenses, not again. She'd done it before, and doing so invariably drove
her crazy, which in turn caused her to make bad choices and end up in trouble.

Of course, she'd landed in big trouble now, and the paparazzi had
nothing to do with it.

So, was she prepared to trust Luke Callahan? Not without more
information. Right now, all she really knew about the man was his reputation in
Brazos Bend—and that was all bad. He'd been a hell-raiser, a troublemaker, a
bad-boy deluxe.

So how did that James Dean poster child end up a good-guy federal
agent? And why wasn't the good-guy federal agent a good guy anymore? Had he
gone back over to the dark side or something?

Would that be good for her or bad for her?

The aroma of grilling beef drifted on the air, and Maddie realized
she was hungry. For food, for answers. For a solution to her problem.

Apparently, he'd decided to drop his interrogation, and she
couldn't help but wonder why.

She made her way back to the stern, where Luke Callahan had traded
in his .45 for a spatula. He'd yet to don a shirt, and his swim trunks had
worked their way low on his hips again, revealing an intriguing tan line. His
feet were bare. He lowered the grill lid, dodged the stream of smoke, and
flashed her a grin. "Just turned the steaks. Supper will be ready
soon."

The grin did it. From out of the blue came that old, familiar
sensation. Maddie tingled. She had one of those nice little boy-girl zings she
hadn't experienced in a very long time. A line from an old TV show ran through
her mind.
Danger, Will Robinson. Danger.
"They smell
delicious."

"A good cut of meat seasoned with my special spice.
Mouthwatering good, I promise."

I'll bet.

"So, can I tempt you with a nice shiraz?"

You tempt me by breathing.

"Oh, for crying out loud," she muttered beneath her
breath. "That would be lovely."

Maddie accepted the glass, then sipped the rich, full-bodied drink
and wondered whether this spike in her libido was a reaction to stress, to
danger. That happened in books all the time. Characters would have a brush with
death and then want to reaffirm life by going at it like rabbits.

No, dummy. The sizzle in your blood is a reaction to the man. He's
drop-dead gorgeous and has a bad-boy history. On top of that, he's nice to his
dog. Of course he turns you on. He's just your type!

The type that had caused her nothing but trouble in the past.
Maddie swallowed hard.

"The wine is good," she said, sipping from the glass.
She listened to Norah Jones croon a moody ballad on the stereo and waited for
him to speak.

Luke topped off her glass. "Goes well with steak. I'm glad
you're not a vegetarian or something weird like that."

"Not hardly." Maddie told herself to relax. The wine
helped. "I'll have you know, I indulge in chicken-fried steak once a month
at the Dixie Cafe."

"The Dixie Cafe." Luke propped a hip on one of the tall
cushioned bar stools, then gestured for her to take a seat beside him.
"Oh, man. That brings back memories. Chicken-fried steak, fried okra, best
mashed potatoes I've ever had."

"Not afraid to carb load, are you?"

They spoke of Brazos Bend for a time, Maddie catching him up with
the changes that had occurred since he left town seventeen years ago while
asking subtle questions intended to probe his opinions and beliefs. In the
process, they knocked back three-quarters of the bottle of wine.

Maddie was feeling warm and relaxed when Luke pacified a whining
Knucklehead by tossing him a pretzel, then observed, "You know, I think
I'd remember a girl like you. Did you grow up in Brazos Bend?"

Her gaze rested on Knucklehead as he padded up to investigate the
offering. "No. I moved there a little over a year ago."

"From where?"

The dog sniffed, devoured, then whined for more as Maddie hedged,
"Southeast Texas. A little town northeast of Houston."

"How did you end up in Brazos Bend?"

This answer was easier. "A friend invited me to visit and I
fell in love with the town."

Luke widened his eyes. Disbelief rang in his voice. "With
Brazos Bend?"

"Yes. I love it there. Brazos Bend is Mayberry with a Texas
drawl."

"And that's a good thing?" Luke gave in and tossed
Knucklehead a handful of pretzels.

"Definitely." Maddie used the dog's antics to change the
subject. "He's great. How long have you had him?"

"Just a few days. He's a stray who wandered up."

"You must have a soft spot for strays," she said,
smiling at him over her wineglass.

His glass halfway to his mouth, Luke paused. "Soft? No. I
wouldn't say that."

Then he looked her straight in the eyes, stared at her intently.
The air all but crackled with tension, and Maddie felt that zing run through
her once again.

"Are you married, Maddie?"

"Married?" she squeaked. "I... um..."

"Hard question?"

"No. Just... well... not me. I'm single. Really single."

He laughed softly. "What does 'really single' mean?"

That I haven't had sex in over two years.
Her
stomach did a somersault.
Don't go there!

"I've a difficult time believing that a woman like you
doesn't date."

"I date. Sort of," she said, her smile shaky. She
thought of Mike McDermott, the nice, polite librarian she'd gone to dinner with
last week, to the movies with the week before. Members of the Ladies'
Seventy-and-Over Tuesday morning bowling league whom Maddie transported to and
from the lanes had opined that Mike might be The One for her. "Mike and
I... we're not... we've only had two dates."

"Ah." He sat back in his chair, stretched out his legs,
and asked, "So, who is he? Anybody I might know from the old days?"

Maddie dragged her gaze away from the ripple of muscle on his
torso. "You might. You and Mike are around the same age."

"Mike Chandler?"

"No, Mike McDermott."

Luke frowned in thought, scratched his five o'clock shadow.
"Computer nerd? Skinny with sandy hair and thick glasses?"

"He's into weight lifting now. He wears contacts and he owns
a house."

He must have heard something in her voice, because he arched a
brow and pursued that point. "That's important to you? The house?"

"Yes." Maddie relaxed a bit, glad to have something to
think about other than sculpted male muscles. "I mean, it's not important
that Mike owns one, but a house is important to me. A home is important."
She thought of those few golden suburban months, then the constant stream of
hotel suites and boarding school dormitories. "I'm renting now, but I hope
to buy a place by the end of the year. I want to sink roots."

"Hmm." Luke peanut-picked the party mix, then tossed his
findings nut by nut into his mouth. "So, you aimin' for a place like my
old man's?"

Maddie tore her gaze away from his mouth. "Heavens no. Living
in a Country Club mansion isn't my dream at all."

Interest brightened his green eyes. He filled her wineglass yet
again. "Yeah? What is, then? Tell me about your dream house, Ms.
Maddie."

Maddie turned to watch a heron take flight from its perch atop a
rotting log. It skimmed across the bayou mere inches above the surface before
lifting to find purchase on a cypress stump. "It's nothing fancy. Three
bedrooms, two baths, a big yard in a nice neighborhood with good schools."

"Schools, ah. So the dream includes kids."

Maddie nodded.

Luke topped off both their glasses, then casually observed,
"Personally, I plan on driving Vettes the rest of my life."

Maddie picked up on his point right away. "So you don't want
children?"

"Nope. I've never found the idea of fatherhood very
appealing."

Maddie wasn't surprised by his attitude, considering that his
relationship with his own father had been so poor for so long.

"Houses don't hold much interest for me, either," he
continued. "That three-bedroom house with a yard would drive me crazy. I'm
definitely a footloose kind of guy."

Was he warning her off? Maddie didn't know whether to be insulted
or flattered.

"Look at that ol' gator lazin' in the sun." Luke pointed
off the starboard bow. "See, over there by that cypress? Gotta be twelve
feet long, at least. Makes that little one who scared you earlier look like a
toy. Did you know that alligators have lived for nearly two hundred million
years with virtually no evolutionary changes?"

Now, that was a typical bad boy's response to a woman's mention of
children. He'd gone from asking about her sex life to jawing about alligators.
She recalled another time when she'd expressed an interest in children to a
man, to her very first lover, in fact. She'd mentioned motherhood, and Rip
Tucker started talking about hidden symbolism in the paintings of Michelangelo.

"No evolutionary changes, hmm?" Maddie eyed the
alligator and was thankful for the size of the boat. "Reminds me of some
of the men I've dated."

Luke ignored that little dig, stretched out his legs, and crossed
them at the ankles. He linked his fingers behind his head, elbows out wide.
"Gators are top of the food chain in the swamp, of course. They'll eat
anything from armadillos to possums to snakes."

Maddie forced herself to look away from those washboard abs.
"You are just a font of information, Mr. Callahan."

"Oh, I'm just getting started, sweetcheeks."

I wish.

Maddie swallowed hard, gave herself a mental slap, then drawled a
dry, "Sweetcheeks?"

He winked playfully, and she pretended that her feminine muscles
didn't clench with lust.

"A male alligator may grow as long as fourteen feet or
better. Weigh up to a thousand pounds. He's like a tank in the water." He
paused, then added with apparent nonchalance, "You know, I wrestled one,
once."

She blinked. "You wrestled an alligator? Oh, come on."

He rolled to his feet and leaned against the houseboat railing,
facing her. Then he winked. "It's true. I was down in the Everglades
and..."

Maddie paid scant attention to his tale of a spring break trip
that went awry, because her thoughts were focused on the here and now. The wink
had confirmed it. Luke Callahan was flirting with her. And while she didn't
quite know exactly where he was going with this alligator tale of his, Maddie
couldn't deny that the ride was exciting.

And dangerous.

Obviously, Luke Callahan was no safe, suburban Mike McDermott.
Maddie dare not let down her guard and forget that.

If only he didn't appeal to her Wicked Inner Wanton.

Maddie blamed her WIW for the sins in her past—namely Rip Tucker,
the rebel without a cause who'd swept her off her feet at sixteen; Liam Murphy,
the moody Irish poet and, it turned out, IRA supporter, whom she'd fallen for
at twenty; and last, but certainly not least, drug-trafficker-in-disguise Cade
Ranger, who'd made a fool and a felon of her at the age of twenty-seven.

Her reaction to this man made her feel stupid, made her feel weak.

It shouldn't,
whispered her WIW.
The situation is
entirely different this time. Mr. Washboard doesn't know who your father is. He
doesn't have anything to gain by taking Maddie Kincaid, senior caregiver, to
bed.

You could turn the tables this time. You could hold the power.
Rather than being used and tossed away, this time you could do the using. You
could do the tossing. This time, you'd be in control.

It was, Maddie admitted, a heady thought.