Luke (24 page)

Her voice barely above a whisper, she said, “You're a fiend.”

“I know,” he said sympathetically, even as he slid the fast-melting ice along the valley between her breasts then up the gentle mounds on either side.

“A monster.” She was no longer struggling. Instead, she trailed a hand to the back of his neck and drew his head down closer to her mouth.

“Yes.” He brushed her lips with his, feathered the edges with his tongue. At the same time, he circled the taut nipples of her breasts with the ice, then began a slow track downward, sliding, skating the cube in a wet track toward the elastic waistband of her shorts. He slipped his hand underneath.

She caught her breath for a half-strangled instant. Then she placed a small kiss, quickly, at first one corner of his mouth and then the other before promising, “You'll pay for this.”

“I hope so,” he whispered, and flattened his palm, ice nestled in its hollow, against the fluttering surface of her abdomen.

A soft sound, half exclamation, half moan, lifted her chest. He caught her closer and took her mouth in a plundering kiss as an answering shiver ran over his own skin. With easy strength, he pulled her with him as he sank down on the bench. She lifted her legs to the plastic surface, lying against his long length. Carefully, thoroughly, he cooled her, until she writhed against his hand. The blood pounded in his heart, throbbed in the veins of his legs, and pooled with shuddering force at the juncture of his thighs.

Silence caught them, then, broken only by the soft applause of the leaves above them, the calls of birds,
and the ceaseless lap of water against the boat as it rocked slowly, endlessly, in the breeze. The ice was soon gone, lost in the rising heat between their bodies.

They removed damp clothes with more haste than finesse. The warm tree shadows caressed their skins, made feathery patterns across them that danced as they moved. There was no one to see their hot, hot joining. No one to watch their rhythmic dance of life.

Completion swept in on them like a summer storm, a thunderous upheaval of nature. Luke caught April to him, stunned and glorified by the moment. He stared down at her, at her face flushed with pleasure, the damp tendrils of her hair that framed it, her parted lips.

“Don't close your eyes,” he said in both whispered command and breathless entreaty. “Look at me.”

Her lashes swept upward. Dazed, golden and deeply tender, her gaze met his. She saw him. Him, and not some fantasy fictional hero larger than life and as false. She saw Luke Benedict, just a man, with more than his share of a man's faults.

Certain that she knew who was making love to her, he let himself slip over the edge. He carried her with him into the turbulence of the hurricane, flying straight and sure for its windswept center. Then he surrendered and let it take them.

A
pril lay among the tangled sheets of the made-down bed and watched the day brighten beyond the screen door. No matter how hard she listened, she could hear no sound of a splashing bath or swim, no treads out on deck as Luke checked their mooring ropes, no soft whir of a line zinging from a reel as he cast for early-morning bass. Everything was quiet, too quiet.

Luke was gone. She was alone again.

She knew why he'd left in the night, or thought she did. He wanted, as much as possible, to avoid being seen coming and going. Still, she wished that he'd discussed the trip with her. She didn't like being on the boat without him. It felt too deserted. She had a sense of being unprotected, vulnerable to whatever or whoever might happen by.

He'd gone for water and fresh food, she knew, but she suspected that wasn't all. No doubt he wanted to find out if anything had changed, if it was all right for them to emerge from hiding. Somehow, she wished he wasn't quite so anxious to get back to civilization. She wasn't, not any more.

It had occurred to her, when she first opened her eyes, that she could get used to this kind of swamp
idyll. To be away from the distractions of phones and faxes, E-mail and endless obligations gave her a wonderful sense of freedom. She could almost feel the kinks in her neck and shoulders relaxing and the creative center of her brain expanding. At least, she could as long as Luke was near, on guard. She didn't like it at all without him.

How had she come to this in such a short time? It wasn't supposed to be this way. She couldn't afford to let dependence on Luke become a habit. What would she do when this was over and she went back to normal life at Mulberry Point? Nothing had been said to indicate that their intimacy would carry over to dry land. For all she knew, Luke might view these few days as nothing more than a convenient release from tension, or else a limited association to resolve the issue of her past rejection. He wasn't used to being tied down to one woman, not Luke-de-la-Nuit.

And what was their lovemaking to her? She scouted around that question in her mind, not quite daring to grapple with it. It was difficult enough to get used to the idea that she'd been wrong about Luke and Mary Ellen. To decide where she wanted to go from there was almost impossible.

She heard the helicopter perhaps ten minutes later. She raised her head as she recognized the dull, whipping sound, as if the blades were beating the warm, moisture-laden air like cake batter. It sounded as if it were hovering low, barely above water level. She reared up on her knees, trying to catch sight of it through the window, but the dense foliage of the tree above the boat was in the way. Midnight, at the
foot of the bed, came up on all fours and leaped for the floor in a single, fluid motion. He streaked to the darkened bathroom cubicle where the door hung open, and disappeared inside.

The helicopter passed over perhaps a quarter mile away. It was close enough to scare the birds into flight, but not so near that whoever was in it was likely to spot the boat under its cover. As the noise of its rotary blades faded into the distance, April scrambled out of bed and reached for her clothes.

The helicopter returned three times. Once, it flew within a hundred yards while the air of its passing swayed the trees and flattened the water's surface. If its pilot saw anything, however, he gave no sign. Shortly after noon, he made a final pass and didn't come back. The quiet afterward seemed unnatural, almost ominous.

It didn't last long. Two hours later, about the time April's nerves had calmed enough to allow her to think about working, she heard a boat. It swept past some distance out on the lake with its motor whining at a distinctive speedboat pitch. A few minutes later, it returned from the other direction. Like a persistent mosquito, it zipped up and down as if quartering the lake, coming closer and closer to the opening of the narrow waterway where the pontoon boat was secreted.

The noise set April's teeth on edge. It annoyed Midnight, too, so that he hunched on the front deck with the tip of his tail jerking as regularly as a metronome.

She tried to tell herself the boat rider was a fisherman, or maybe some guy with a new toy that he
had to try out by running it up and down the lake as fast as possible. She assured herself it was a coincidence that he'd shown up so soon after the helicopter incident. She tried to convince herself that the pontoon boat was so well hidden no one could ever find it, so whoever was in the smaller craft was only chasing himself in circles. All the time she was thinking these things, she also wondered when Luke would return, and what would happen if the nut riding up and down saw and recognized him.

Was it possible that was what he was waiting for, to catch Luke before he could reach her? The idea made her feel sick with horror. She wished she had some way to warn him—or to stop him from coming back at all.

Oh, but surely Luke wouldn't be caught in that kind of trap. After the flyover by the spotter plane, he wouldn't come directly to the pontoon boat, but would check out the area with an advance pass or two. If he saw anything at all suspicious out there beyond where she was hidden, he'd steer clear.

That was, of course, if he returned at all. What if Luke had known the sharks would be circling today? What if that was the reason he'd left? It might well be that he'd got what he wanted from her, and was now satisfied to leave her to whatever fate had in store.

No, she wouldn't think like that. There was no good reason, no reason at all.

Still, she had so little idea of what he felt toward her or what he wanted from her. There was only his word for what he was doing there with her or for
what had taken place years ago. It was hard to imagine a future based on such meager beginnings.

She wanted to, however; she wanted it too much. It was so important to her, in fact, that she could settle to nothing. She couldn't work, couldn't read or research, couldn't sit still for more than a few seconds. Instead, she paced up and down the boat while frowning over the difference between words like
hope, trust
and
faith
—and also listening, always listening.

Her vigil was rewarded as the sun disappeared below the horizon and the summer twilight began to lay streamers of transparent lavender hues across the water. It was the time of day when shadows grew long and concealing, and the dimming light made vision most uncertain. There was no movement on the meandering waterway, she saw no boat, no outline of a man, yet she was sure she could just catch the dip and swirl of the boat paddle among the quiet splashes of feeding fish.

Gladness rose inside her to swell her chest and warm her heart. The triumph that went with it was equally fierce. She moved to the rail and listened intently while straining to see.

There he was, easing quietly along the near shoreline. It was Luke, it really was, bending and straightening, his muscles flexing and stretching with his steady rhythm. He was less than fifty feet away. As he looked up and saw her, he lifted a hand. Then he bent lower, dug deeper, to send the dinghy surging toward her. He was almost home. He was coming home, to her.

The shot rang out from the opposite bank. It made
a cracking boom that echoed over the water and away through the trees. The thudding impact of the bullet was perfectly audible, as was the choked sound that Luke made as it hit him in the side. He arched as if struck by a knife between the ribs. Then he toppled over the side of the dinghy and hit the water. The force of his fall splayed water around him like a fountain, sending ripples racing toward where April stood.

She gave a gasping cry. A second later, she was over the side in a fast dive. She surfaced and looked wildly around. Spotting the long shape of the boat, she lunged toward it, swimming with hard, purposeful strokes.

Luke wasn't there. He was nowhere near where he'd gone into the lake, nowhere in sight. She made a grab for the dinghy's aluminum gunwale and hung on, gasping for breath as she searched the water's surface. He must have been so badly injured that he'd sunk like flatiron. Dragging air into her lungs, she plunged deep into the murky water.

Something caught her arm, gripping in a hard hold. She shied away instinctively, trying to fight free as it threatened her buoyancy. It did no good. She was propelled upward. Her head broke the water in the shadow of the dinghy, then she was pulled quickly to the lee side, away from the other bank.

“What the hell are you trying to do?” Luke demanded in a furious whisper.

She knew who had her, knew the glide of his body along hers, the feel of his skin and touch of his hands. The knowledge that he was alive, rather than drowning in front of her, sent reaction zinging
along her nerves. Added to it was the instant response to his anger. “I'm trying to save your stupid life,” she answered with in a furious whisper. “Where did you go?”

“Where any sane person would, out of the line of fire! But never mind. Get your backside in this boat and get out of here, now!”

“Are you crazy?” she demanded, searching the lean lines of his face that were so near as they tread water together. “You were hit, I saw it. I'm not going anywhere.”

“I'm fine. Anyway, it's not me they want. Come on, I'll give you a boost.”

He wasn't fine. She could see the red swirl of blood in the water near his side, see its pink stain on his white T-shirt. “You're hurt. Let me—”

“Damn it all, April,” he exploded with desperation in the darkness of his eyes.

“Damn you, Luke Benedict! You—you got out of the line of fire, but you want me in it?”

“Whoever is out there saw you dive in—hell, the whole world saw you! I'm betting they don't want you dead, at least for a while. If you take the boat, you'll have a chance. Stay here, and you're trapped. There's no way to get the pontoon boat out before they get to us. If they get their hands on you, then I can't—” He stopped, folded his lips in a tight line.

Luke meant that looking out for her would hamper his ability to fight. She saw his point, but still she hesitated. Where was the gunman now? Was he maneuvering for another shot? Could he be slogging his way back to wherever the boat he'd come in
was stashed? Or was he sending someone to get them like a hunter retrieving a downed duck?

“You'll still be here,” she whispered. “Alone.”

“But not without a defense or two. Now get in the damned boat before we both get killed!”

He reached to circle her waist with a long arm, getting ready to hoist her up and over the gunwale that bobbed above their heads. She could fight him, but was by no means sure it would do any good, and the struggle might take more of his strength than he could afford to lose. More than that, he was right; she was the one they were after. Luke was only in danger because of her. If she took the dinghy, she might be able to draw whoever was out there away so he could get to the first aid kit on board the pontoon boat and perhaps to a weapon. At least it would give him a chance.

“All right,” she said in low reluctance. “I'll go. But what if I can't find my way back?”

“Don't come back. Go to Turn-Coupe, to Roan.”

“And if I get lost trying to do that?”

“I'll find you. This is my swamp. It can hide you from most, but not from me. No matter where you are, I'll find you.”

She believed him, believed in the clear purpose in his eyes as he gazed into hers there in the fading purple-gray light. The moment stretched. The water lapped at their chins and pushed them gently against each other. It made small slapping noises against the dinghy that mingled with the tried sound of their breathing.

Then a boat motor roared into life not far away.

Luke's lips thinned as he glanced toward the racket. “They're coming. You have to go. Now.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Still, he watched her for a moment longer, as if he would imprint her features in his mind for all time. Then his face twisted as if in pain. Abruptly, he reached to clasp the back of her head and drag her close for a fast, hard kiss.

April returned it, putting all her fear and hope into it, and her love. Then he freed her, pushed her toward the dinghy. She grabbed the cool aluminum above her and kicked hard as she hoisted herself upward. Luke pushed from below. As she jackknifed into the bottom of the boat, he let his hand trail down her leg and along the bend of her knee. It was a last caress.

“The motor should crank at the first try,” he called, his voice no more than a ghost of sound as it drifted to her. “Yank hard, then give it all it's got. Head straight out of here until you reach the channel, then turn west. And don't look back.”

His last words were almost lost as the motor exploded into life. Still they repeated themselves in her brain like a litany.

Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't turn to see if he can keep his head above water. Don't watch to make sure he reaches the pontoon boat. Don't check to see if someone is going after him. Don't snatch a last glimpse in case you never see him again.

The instructions were impossible to follow. She had to look as she gunned the motor and sent the dinghy in a turn that sprayed water in a wide arc.
She searched the dancing waves with burning eyes for a last, lingering view of the man she owed so much, the man who had taught her to love. The man she had loved when she was a wise teenager and had never truly stopped loving in all the foolish years since.

He wasn't where she'd left him. His swamp had taken him, hidden him, may even have swallowed him.

A second later, she rounded the small channel's bend and the pontoon boat and wake-rippled cul-de-sac were lost to view. Tears rimmed April's lashes. They spilled over, streaming backward across her cheekbones. She let them come as she hurled the dinghy forward, sent it speeding along the narrow path of water.

The outboard purred as she gripped the combination tiller and throttle. Her wet clothing flapped, splattering droplets of swamp water around her. Ahead of her, she saw a small alligator near the bank sink out of sight at her approach. The enclosing swampland sang its evening song but, though she listened hard, she could hear nothing else. There was no other boat nearby except her own, she thought, though it was impossible to be sure.