Luke (18 page)

As Luke spoke, he caught a movement from the corners of his eyes. It was at the hall door. Turning his head quickly, he saw Midnight hovering there with his back in a bow and his hair standing out in a disturbed ruff that made him look ten pounds heavier. The cat was staring at Tinsley with malevolent eyes.

The other man ignored the cat. “You can't be speaking for April. She wouldn't allow that.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Luke answered. “I'm speaking for me. I don't like you, Tinsley. April's cat doesn't like you, either, a valuable second opin
ion. You've had the only warning you're going to get. Remember it.”

He released the man in a sudden, open-handed gesture, then stepped back. Tinsley got slowly to his feet, brushing at his clothes, smoothing his hair. He turned toward the hallway with stiff movements and walked through it to open the front door. Turning back a moment, he said, “This isn't the end of it.”

“No,” Luke said in quiet acceptance. “I think it may be the beginning.”

A
pril knelt on the deck in front of Luke's multi-tiered fishing tackle box and surveyed the contents. Baits of every color in the rainbow lay in precise order in the top trays, each one in its appointed slot. There were top water baits of all kinds, from silvery streamlined plastic fish to those that resembled nothing so much as some kind of space worm. There were spinners and chuggers used for bass at different times of the year, and also the jigs that were attractive to crappie. Spools of plastic line, small containers of sinkers, hooks, and swivels were lined up in the bottom of the box, along with pliers, pocket and filet knives, and a dozen other fishing essentials.

The most interesting items, however, at least from April's point of view, were the foldout trays of unique, collectible lures. Dating back at least sixty years, they nearly qualified as antiques. Many of them were irreplaceable.

Luke loved to fish. Apparently he valued these older baits. She hoped he loved them, hoped they were treasures saved from his boyhood. They easily could be, she thought, since she remembered seeing baits like them in her grandfather's tackle box when
she'd gone fishing with him as a child. That made them perfect.

She picked up a blue-and-red lure with a flirty rubber tail like a grass skirt and lettering on the side that identified it as a Hawaiian Wiggler. She hefted it a couple of times while a grim smile curled her lips. Taking care to avoid its dangling hooks, she stood up then threw the bait as far as she could. It arched high, shining in the sun, before landing in the water with a satisfyingly final plop. April gave a decisive nod, then knelt in front of the tackle box again.

She'd teach Luke Benedict to kidnap her, make love to her and then abandon her. That was exactly what he'd done, as hard as it was to believe.

He was gone. She was alone on the boat. How long he'd been gone, she didn't know. Nor did she know where he'd gone, when he'd be back, or even
if
he'd be back. He'd left no note, but simply sneaked off while she was sleeping. He had also taken the spark plugs from the pontoon boat's big motor, making it impossible to start. She was stranded on this floating prison.

She was so mad she couldn't see straight. The anger sizzled in her veins as it had all day. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so consumed with emotion of any kind. Unless she counted the night before, of course. But thinking about that only made her more angry.

She selected a bait known as a Paw-Paw and sailed it into the lake. How dare he laugh and tease and swear he was taking her away to protect her,
then go off and leave her alone? What gave him the right?

A Pico Perch followed the Paw-Paw, splashing between two lily pads to sink out of sight. Luke Benedict was a low-down, conniving liar, and the very scum of the earth.

As she picked up a so-called Lucky 13, one of its hooks snagged her finger, leaving a long scratch behind. There was nothing lucky for her about the stupid piece of tackle. But there would be nothing for Luke, either, not any more. The lure hit the water and sank from the weight of its hooks, dropping down to be buried in the deep, soft mud of the bottom. It served him right. He'd taken away her freedom of movement and ability to fend for herself. She'd taken away a few of his prized possessions in return.

The scratch stung, and she put her finger in her mouth to soothe it as she dropped back to sit on her heels. What a fool she'd been for almost believing Luke, almost trusting him. She was even more of an idiot for plunging into intimacy with him the night before. She didn't know what had come over her; it had been ages since she'd acted so impulsively. She'd thought she was past such sophomoric weakness. To discover that she wasn't upset her as much as everything else combined.

The strident buzz of a boat motor brought her head up. It sounded familiar. She couldn't be sure it was Luke, but it was coming fast and heading in her direction. She leaned to slam the lid of the tackle box closed and push it back into place beside fishing rod and reel. She didn't want to advertise what she'd
done, but would rather let him come upon it when he least expected it. One unwelcome surprise deserved another.

It was indeed Luke in the boat. He slid into view around the curve with the slanting rays of the westward-leaning sun making a gold nimbus around him. He sat at ease, controlling the boat with one hand. It seemed he was in his natural place, at one with the low-lying craft, the dark and shining water he traveled upon, and the swamp around him. He came into the backwater anchorage as if on a homing instinct, and she could see that he was grinning as he saw her waiting on the deck.

The very sight of him made her furious all over again. She moved to the back deck where the dinghy had been tied up before, and stood with her hands on her hips. She didn't wait for him to stop, but flung her accusation at him as soon as she thought it could be heard above the slowing hum of the motor.

“You don't even snore, do you!”

Wariness replaced the pleasure in his face. “Not that I know of.”

“You tricked me, pretending to be asleep last night,” she continued, aggrieved as well as angry. “You expected me to try something and encouraged me to go for it early so you could stop me with a minimum of effort.”

He switched off the motor and moved to the front of the boat to secure it. “I don't know as I'd put it that way, exactly.”

“But it's what you did, isn't it?” The point was one of many she'd worked out during the long day
alone. Realizing how thoroughly she had been hoodwinked had not improved her temper.

“Did I?”

“You certainly never made a sound for the rest of the night.”

His smile was wry as he finished his job and straightened to his full height. “I couldn't risk you getting lost back in here, now could I?”

“Oh, right,” she answered in heavy sarcasm. “Or take the chance that I might press charges!”

“Would you do that? Now?”

His dark eyes held teasing promise and something more that made her suddenly aware of the hot sun beating down on her head, the stillness that surrounded them and their isolation. Clutching her anger like a talisman, April answered, “I certainly should!”

He sobered a fraction. “Did you think I might not come back? Is that what this is about?”

“Not at all. I knew you wouldn't leave your boat.” He was only half right. The rest of the question had been just when he'd return, and if he'd expect her to be gone, conveniently lost in the swamps, after all.

“I had more to come back for than a boat,” he said, his voice dropping to a sultry note.

That might have been gratifying if she could believe it, but she wasn't ready to do that. She wasn't, even if the look in his eyes was a strong reminder of just why she'd succumbed to his practiced lovemaking.

She was saved from finding an answer by a movement near Luke's feet. Something black and
furry oozed from under the dinghy's triangular forward seat and stretched, then looked up at her in expectation.

“Midnight!” she cried. “Oh, I can't believe it.” She glanced at Luke again. “Where did you find him? How did you ever manage to get here with him?”

“I paid a visit to Mulberry Point. He seemed happy to have company, and didn't object too much to going for a ride.” Luke stooped and lifted the tomcat in one large hand so he hung like a limp fake fur rug as he was passed up to her. “I swear the dumb cat knew where he was headed. He got right in the boat.”

“That makes him a smart cat instead of dumb, doesn't it, boy,” she murmured to Midnight as she cuddled her pet and accepted his ecstatic chin rub of greeting.

Luke watched her for a second, then shook his head in amazement. “Don't you want to know what else I've brought?”

She spared him a brief stare. “I can see that you stocked up for a long stay.”

“I brought your computer—well, your laptop, anyway.”

“That'll be good for all of half a day's work before the battery quits.”

“More than that with the generator that's on board,” he informed her. “But I also threw in paper and pens and whatever else I came across that looked like notes.”

That got her attention. Voice cool, she asked, “You went through my desk?”

“I raked off the top of it—literally. But I didn't have time to read much if that's what's worrying you.”

If he'd brought everything that was scattered in helter-skelter fashion over her desktop, then she should have most of what she needed to work. And if he was telling the truth, and had managed not to look over what he picked up, she could almost feel in charity with him again. Which had nothing to do, of course, with the way his jeans molded and stretched over his lean flanks as he unloaded the dinghy, hoisting box after box to the deck of the pontoon boat. Nor did the fact that she was relieved to see him, grateful to know that he hadn't left for good, have any bearing.

“In that case,” she said at last, “I suppose I'll have to admit that you're very considerate, as kidnappers go.”

He paused with a grocery bag in each hand to give her a pained look. “Is that all?”

“All?”

“No promise of fervent thanks at a later time? No kiss hello? No welcome home and invitation to…come onaboard?”

“No come-on of any kind,” she said crisply, keeping her attention on scratching behind Midnight's ears. “If you're thinking about last night, that was a mistake.”

“If it was,” he said with precision as he set the grocery bags down and reached for more, “you made it.”

She turned her head sharply. “What does that mean?”

“We had a bet. You lost.”

“You didn't play fair. I don't think this qualifies.” She made a vague gesture to indicate the boat.

“Sure you do, you're just afraid. That's all right, April love, but you're going to have to make up your mind what you want, sooner or later. In the meantime, I have another game plan. You've heard it before, but I can give it to you again, short and sweet.”

It wasn't necessary. It was there in the set of his shoulders, the curve of his lips and the uncomfortably intent look in his eyes. Most of all, it lingered in her mind, echoing in the deep cadences of challenge from that day at the wedding reception:
Resist me if you can.

She leaned to put Midnight down, then picked up a box with something sticking out of it that looked suspiciously like the hem of her silk nightgown. “I'm not afraid of anything,” she said, “least of all you and your threats.”

“Good,” he replied in quiet satisfaction. “That's good.”

April pretended not to hear that as she walked away with her burden. He'd think twice about how good it was when he discovered his precious baits were at the bottom of the lake.

She and Luke stowed everything away, since it was both something to do and necessary if they were to have room to move around in their cramped quarters. Afterward, they had a light snack when they discovered that they'd both skipped lunch. The sun was going down by the time they finished. Luke
got out his tackle box and began to rummage through it.

April watched him from inside the cabin, standing back in the gathering shadows as she waited for the explosion. It didn't come. Apparently, he hadn't noticed the missing tackle. As she saw him tie on a shiny new spinner, fastening it to his line with a fast and dexterous sailor's knot before moving to the front rail with his rod and reel, she almost wished she'd dumped his entire tackle box overboard.

She thought she should try to work; she no longer had an excuse to avoid it and awareness of her looming deadline was like a sore spot at the top of her brain. She couldn't make herself do it, however. It was possible she had been more tired than she knew, because all she really wanted to do was nap. That wasn't the effect of the night before, either, for she'd slept until the middle of the morning.

Carrying her glass of iced tea with her, she settled on the outside bench with her back braced against the driver's console beside it and her legs stretched out on the seat. From that vantage point, she had a good view of Luke as he stood casting for bass at the boat's prow. Midnight joined her for a few minutes, until Luke reeled in a three-pound bass. The cat jumped down then and went to investigate, after which he took up a post atop the closed charcoal grill to watch the action.

She was almost sorry Luke had brought her writing equipment to her. Though she'd chafed about it earlier in the day, there'd been peace in knowing she couldn't do it. Now it nagged at her, a constant irritant.

Perhaps she could give herself this evening off, however, if she vowed to start early in the morning. She wouldn't think about it, then. She'd let work go while she simply enjoyed the gradual cooling of the evening. The coolness was relative, of course, a mere eighty-five degrees in contrast to the burning ninety-five degrees of noon.

The evening was sultry with humidity as well. The breeze over the water had failed. The lake surface around them was as still as a mirror except where fish rose to feed with lazy slapping sounds, or the occasional bubble of swamp gas broke the surface in a concentric circle. The heavy boat barely moved. An elusive fragrance, perhaps from the water lilies, or maybe from ripening fruit back in the woods, drifted on the heavy air. Cicadas in the trees along the shoreline sang. Frogs and crickets joined the chorus. Now and then, the booming of far-off thunder came from the southwest.

Joining the sounds, an almost natural addition, was the intermittent whine and splash as Luke plied his rod and reel. His concentration was total, his face smooth with contentment in the evening light. He seemed oblivious of her presence so she was able to watch him without feeling self-conscious about it. He fished as he did most things, she thought, with competence and a graceful economy of motion. At the same time, he made it look easy.