Tall, Dark and Lethal (5 page)

“Right.” A few more days. In the company of a gun-toting kind of good guy with principles. On the run from the FBI and possibly some terrorists. She wasn’t going to think about that part. She was going to grab hold of the “with principles” part and hang on to that.

They passed the rest of the walk in silence. He was probably planning the details of their impossible mission. She was just trying to hold herself together and not start sobbing.

They were near the shack when they spotted the cruiser rolling down the dirt road, going slowly, checking out the row of weekend bungalows.

“Cade?” She looked at him. They had absolutely no place to go. Cops ahead, water behind.

They were so doomed. Suddenly, doubts rose by the dozen, smothering her. They never should have run in the first place. Taking off made everything so much worse, making them look like they had something to hide. She shouldn’t have left with him. Should have fought him tooth and nail, should have screamed bloody murder, should have—at the very least—given herself up to the cop in DeDe’s parking lot.

An FBI interrogation.
She swallowed the Ping-Pong ball in her throat. Her nerve endings buzzed with sheer terror as she watched the cop car, unable to look away from it. She felt like a fish caught in a net, all tangled up with no way out. His hand on her arm brought her attention back to him, distracting her from impending doom for a split second.

His intense caramel eyes searched her face. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

“No,” Bailey said without thinking. “Not at all. Absolutely not.” In fact, she was beginning to rue the day she’d ever set eyes on the man.

A frown creased his forehead. “Don’t you think that’s overkill? A single
no
would have done. A
maybe
would have been nice.”

She blinked. Like, what—she’d hurt his feelings? She had bigger things to worry about.

“Come on.” He walked away from her, his steps full of purpose.

Apparently, at least one of them thought he knew what he was doing.

Trust or no trust, she followed him. He
had
proven himself competent so far. And he had gotten her out of the house before it blew. Someday she was going to thank him for that. Right now she couldn’t bear thinking about it. She couldn’t face the fact that the home she had worked so hard for was gone.

He sneaked up to the lean-to behind his friend’s fishing shack and pulled out a two-seater canoe. “Grab the end.”

She had a bad feeling about this but did as he asked—ordered, really. The man had to work on his people skills. But it didn’t seem like the best time to point that out to him.

He picked up the other end and two paddles. “I’ll go first,” he said as he headed for the water. “The goal is to always keep something between us and the cops.”

Since they’d been pretty close to shore in the first place, it didn’t take them long to reach the water. The beach ended a hundred or so feet to the left, and there was little sand on the shore. A long dock reached into the water, used by fishermen. The lake seemed endless, the other side barely visible.

Her hands tingled with nerves. She consoled herself with the fact that the sky was clear. “Have I mentioned that I can’t swim?” Could be it slipped his mind. Or maybe he was just going to float the canoe out to the middle of the lake and blow it up to draw the cops’ attention. She could only hope.

“You won’t have to,” he said, looking over his shoulder.

There. He wouldn’t make her go out on the lake. Maybe he really was a nice guy. Maybe she had misjudged him. She gave him a semi-smile of appreciation.

“Just take care not to fall in,” he said, looking over his shoulder.

The urge to yell at him took effort to suppress. It helped that her fear overpowered her anger. “Don’t these things tip easily?”

He put the canoe in the water. “Not today. I’ll hold it. Step in and sit down. While we are out there, whatever happens, don’t stand up.”

“Okay.” That wasn’t hard to promise. She pretty much figured she’d be frozen to her seat.

A compassionate universe wouldn’t let her drown. She fixed that thought in her mind and held on to it.
Cade
wouldn’t let her drown. Oddly, that thought seemed just as—if not more—comforting as the first. She was in real bad shape if she was starting to put her trust in Cade Palmer, annoying and hot neighbor extraordinaire.

Just watching the waves lick the canoe’s side made her nervous. Last chance to back out.

She glanced toward the cop car that was canvassing the narrow lanes, stopping to talk to people.
FBI interrogation.
“Okay, let’s do it,” she said and didn’t stop to think how crazy it was that she would trust Cade more than she trusted the benevolence of the universe or, for that matter, the checks and balances of her own government.

He helped her into the back, then strode into the water to put in their bags before sitting down in front of her and handing her one of the paddles. “Relax.”

“Shouldn’t we have life vests on?” The pronounced lack of life-saving devices made it very hard for her to “relax.”

“Weren’t any in the shed.”

Weren’t those things mandatory? Why didn’t his friend have them? Obviously, he had irresponsible friends. Why wasn’t she surprised? Maybe she should reevaluate her newfound trust in the man.

“Watch what I do and do the same. It’s not hard to pick up the rhythm.” He pushed away and dipped his paddle into the water on his right, obviously unconcerned about a cold and watery grave.

Then they were away from the shore, moving rapidly, gliding across the surface of the water with each push of his powerful arms. She ignored the goose bumps of unease that spread across her skin and copied him movement for movement. And for a while she was so focused, that she forgot to worry about getting farther and farther away from shore.

But then she looked back and registered how far out they were, how deep the water must be, how the waves splashed against the canoe’s side.…Her arms stopped.
Can’t, can’t, can’t. Oh, God.
She wanted to get back to firm ground, but she couldn’t even move to paddle back. A helicopter rescue would have been really nice. Just lift her right out. Snug in a harness. Please.

“Take it easy. Try to focus on something else,” he said without turning back.

Easy for him to say. But after a moment, she calmed herself enough to focus on his wide shoulders, the only thing in her line of vision other than water. Strong and close enough to grab on to in case of emergency. “How far do we have to go?” She hated the mousy squeak in her voice. Sweat beaded above her lip. At least he couldn’t see that.

“Not far. Just over there.” His voice was patient, his tone deep and calming. He motioned with his head toward a sizable patch of reeds.

If there were reeds there, the water had to be fairly shallow. This thought set her at ease a bit. “How long do we have to stay out here?”

“Not long. There’s a storm coming.”

She clenched her paddle tighter. “What storm?” There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the wind picking up only a little.

But by the time they reached the reeds, the first clouds appeared from the east. Within half an hour it was raining. Another fifteen minutes after that, a summer storm was beating them with full force.

“Keep down.”

Like she had to be told. She huddled in her seat, shivering as he pulled the canoe to the edge of the reeds, close enough so they could see out while still remaining hidden. The beach was already empty. The last of the fishermen were going to shore. A cop car was parked by the dock, two police officers checking out everyone who was coming in.

“Here. Give me your paddle.” He took it from her and laid it in the canoe. “See if you can scoot closer without upsetting the balance.”

She inched forward, while holding her breath, until their bodies touched. His wet shirt did little to diminish the heat that radiated from his back, and she snuggled up to him, putting her arms around his waist after a moment, wanting to be even closer, his warmth feeling so good as rain pelted her back.

Then he executed some slick maneuver, and the next thing she knew he was turned around, holding her in his arms. Being pressed against him like this, in the shelter of his wide chest, his head bowed over hers, her face pressed against the strong column of his neck, made the lake seem less threatening somehow, the storm quieter, the wind not as merciless. She clung to him, forgetting pride and propriety, appreciating the comfort he offered.

“You really think we’re in this much trouble?” she said into his soaked shirt collar. He was taking some pretty extraordinary measures.

“Picture your house the last time you saw it.”

She shuddered. He was right.

She clung to him in the storm, the reality of her situation seeping in slowly until she was numb not only with cold but with the weight of the quandary she found herself in. Up until now, she had led an ordinary life. Boring even. Exciting and terrifying things tended to happen to her brother, who’d hitchhiked through South America one summer break from UCLA and nearly gotten kidnapped by guerillas. Then, once he’d received his degree, he’d moved to Manhattan to marry a wealthy socialite, where he rubbed elbows with the rich and famous, and witnessed the horror of 9/11.

She’d gone to a local college, got a local job, dated and broken up with local men and bought a house locally when she’d finally squirreled away enough for a down payment. The sad truth was that Cade Palmer was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. She spent some time contemplating how pathetic that was. As soon as she was out of mortal danger, she was going to come up with a brand-new life plan.

When the lake was empty of boats and the cops had left, Cade waited another ten minutes and then decided that they could finally paddle out. When they reached the dock, he got out first and helped her to shore, holding her hand maybe a fraction of a second longer than necessary. She flushed with embarrassment, thinking how she’d clung to him in the reeds.

She wouldn’t be doing herself any favors by denying that she was rapidly falling in lust with the man. She thanked her lucky stars that she didn’t believe in falling in love. She was safe, at least, from that.

“We should probably get out of this weather.” She bent to pick up the canoe, and they carried it back to the lean-to over their heads, using it as an umbrella. No cops in sight.

He reached up to the rafters after they set the canoe down, searched around and came up with a key. He flashed her a smile, which for a second made her forget how cold she was. Whatever else could be said about the man, he did have devastating eyes and an equally devastating smile. Odd that he hadn’t had any female visitors in the three months since he had moved in. No visitors at all, in fact. Of course, considering his difficult personality, perhaps that was understandable. And then there was his job with the DHS.

“If you used to work for the government, why were you hiding from the authorities in Chadds Ford?” she asked.

“I wasn’t hiding from the authorities.”

“But you were hiding.” Now she was getting somewhere.

He considered her for a moment. “From my past.”

From the bad guys in his past, like the ones who blew their house up. She could still barely process that.

“What does the FBI want from you?” Then she added, on second thought, “From us?”

“When I figure that out, you’ll be the first to know.”

That part made no sense whatsoever. “A case of mistaken identities, you think?”

He shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”

He opened the front door and showed her into a ten-by-ten room. Her previous line of questioning was immediately forgotten. Judging from the dust and the cobwebs, whoever his friend was hadn’t gotten a lot of fishing done so far this summer.

She was about to remark on that when she noticed he was staring at her in a strange way.

“What?”

His gaze snapped back into focus. “Sorry.” He seemed to shake off whatever had gotten hold of him. “Kitchen.” He pointed toward the electric hot plate on top of a dresser next to a small fridge. “Living room.” He walked toward a sofa that had seen better days and opened it. “Bedroom.” It wasn’t a sofa, after all, but a futon. “And bathroom.” He indicated a folding plastic door, with a proud grin. “What do you think?”

“Mother of God, have mercy,” she said. “‘When did I have my last tetanus shot?’ comes in as a close second.”

One dark eyebrow lifted. “Hey, you have a sense of humor.”

She was instantly annoyed. Had he thought her as bad as that? That hurt, especially since her opinion of him had been improving. She drew herself up straight. What he thought of her didn’t matter.

“Excuse me,” she said, with all the dignity she could muster, and marched the two steps to the bathroom. She needed to put some distance between them and reestablish personal boundaries. A hot bath would give her time, stave off a cold and undoubtedly put her in a better mood.

She struggled with the folding door, won and stood gaping.

The best thing that could be said for the bathroom was that it had a door. The space was incredibly small. And she was pretty sure she was the first woman it had ever seen. One bar of dried-out soap. No bath. No shower. Just a bowl on a stand.

Her gaze caught on the small, streaked wall mirror, and she jumped in, yanking the door closed behind her. She’d been sleeping when Cade had broken into her bedroom, and hadn’t had a bra on. She’d bought one at Wal-Mart but had been hoping for some privacy to put it on. She’d waited too long. The rain had soaked the white T-shirt she’d borrowed from him, plastering it to her torso, leaving nothing to the imagination.

She grabbed the single towel and rubbed the front of her shirt. She had dry clothes in the “living room” but she wasn’t going out there like this. She’d sit here until the damn shirt dried if she had to. She did the best she could with the towel and then turned her mind to other business.

The toilet. The seat wasn’t down. Because the toilet didn’t have a seat. She flushed, grateful that at least the plumbing was working. The tap trickled cold water only. The sink had enough hard-water stains for a Rorschach test.

She stared at them for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. As she stared, the stains began to take shape. If she didn’t know any better she’d think she was seeing her own doom.

C
ADE HAD JUST FINISHED
prying up the floorboard under the futon when she came out, hair somewhat tamed, face freshly scrubbed. Her lips were forced into the usual disapproving line, but they weren’t fooling him. Bailey Preston had a lush, sweet mouth.

The memory of their pretend kiss shot straight to his groin. Again. Always. That seemed to be a pretty dependable repeat effect with her. Maybe that had always been the trouble, the source of the tension between them. She was a beautiful woman with a great body. He was a man. Having to listen to her shower run on the other side of the wall every night and knowing she was just feet from him, naked, was enough to make any man a little nuts.

And he could absolutely not put the moves on her, because he didn’t know how long he would have to hide out. Or where he would end up when the dust settled. He didn’t do long-term relationships, and a fling with someone who lived next door was out of the question. Not that they lived next door to each other anymore. But she’d been hell to live with as it was. He hated to think what she would be like if they got together and then split.

“What are you doing?” she asked in her trademark, full-of-censure voice, which would have been easy to hate if it didn’t have that underlying tone of sultry sensuality that drove him mad on a regular basis.