The Great Escape (20 page)

The woman, her spine ramrod stiff, still hadn’t turned from the window. She wore an oversize black tunic top, black slacks, and stilettos. Her straight dark hair hung to her shoulders, and her ring-less hands looked too large for her wrists.

“Panda has assured me that I can count on you for discretion.” She spoke in a low-pitched, slightly husky voice, but something about her authoritarian tone suggested she preferred full volume.

“No problem,” Lucy said. “I’m leaving.”

“You can’t leave.” The woman’s large hands fisted at her sides, but she still didn’t turn.

Lucy gave Panda a poisonous look. “If Panda tries something, you can always call the police.”

“There has to be another female here,” the woman said in her eerily quiet drill sergeant’s voice. “I understand you’ve been through a lot lately, but I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

So Panda had told her who Lucy was. Another indication that he had no moral compass.

“Normally, I’d offer to pay you,” she said, “but … that seems a little insulting.”

A little?
The woman didn’t appear overawed at being with a member of the former first family, which suggested she was accustomed to celebrities. Lucy’s curiosity got the best of her. “Why is it so important?”

The woman’s head came up another inch. “Before I explain, I don’t suppose you’d consider signing a confidentiality agreement?”

She had to be kidding.

“Lucy has a lot of
faults
”—Panda leaned on that last word—“but she has too much at stake herself to go around blowing anyone else’s cover.”

“So you said.” The woman straightened her shoulders. “I suppose I’ll have to trust you, not something I’m good at.” A gull swooped by the window. And then she turned. Slowly … Dramatically … A tragic queen facing the guillotine.

Enormous black sunglasses concealed much of her face. She was tall and statuesque, a little overweight underneath that voluminous tunic top. She wore no jewelry, nothing to call attention to herself except the inappropriateness of all that black on a warm June day. Her hand shook ever so slightly as she took off her sunglasses. She folded in the stems, then raised her chin and gazed at Lucy.

She was attractive—dark, almond-shaped eyes; good cheekbones; a strong nose—but her full mouth could have used a slick of lip gloss, and a little makeup would have done wonders for her sallow complexion. Not that Lucy was one to criticize anyone else’s makeup application, since she was wearing brown lipstick and had thick kohl smudges both above and below her lashes.

The dramatic way the woman stood before her indicated she expected Lucy to say something, but since Lucy had no idea—

And then she understood.
Whoa.

“Lucy, I’m sure you’ve heard of Temple Renshaw,” Panda said, all business.

Temple Renshaw, the Evil Queen of the celebrity fitness gurus and star of
Fat Island
, a horrible reality show that shamed its participants by exiling them to a place “where no one has to look at you.” She’d built her career on humiliation and degradation, and photographs of her panther-sleek body were everywhere—on the labels of her fitness drinks, her power bars, her extensive line of exercise wear. But those photographs only remotely resembled this woman draped in black—a woman with full cheeks and a plump little cushion of fat under her chin.

“As you can see,” Temple said, “I’m obese.”

Lucy swallowed. “I’d hardly say you were obese.” Temple still looked better than most of the tourists who got off the ferry. But that didn’t mean she was the lithe willow the public knew so well.

“No need to be polite,” Temple said.

Panda spoke up. “Temple had some personal difficulties over the spring that caused her to gain a little—”

“Don’t make excuses.” Her drill sergeant’s voice became a full-volume snarl. “I’m a fat slob.”

Lucy looked at him. “Where do you fit into this?” She paused. “And are you armed?”

“Temple hired me to help her get back in shape,” he said. “And none of your business.”

“You’re her trainer?”

“Not exactly.”

“I don’t need a trainer,” Temple snapped. “I need a disciplinarian.”

“Disciplinarian?” A series of images involving whips and paddles flashed through her head. Panda’s lip curled in an unpleasant smile, as if he were reading her mind. Lucy gave him her back. “Exactly what does this … discipline involve?”

“Panda and I have that worked out,” Temple said. “
Fat Island
starts taping in September, exactly three months from now. Since I’m clearly out of control, I’ve hired Panda to give me the structure I need to get back in shape.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw Temple’s “disciplinarian” inspecting the neatly organized bookshelves. With his index finger, he flipped a copy of
Lighthouses of Lake Michigan
onto its side, disturbing the arrangement.

“And you’re doing it here?” Lucy said.

“I can hardly check into a spa looking like this. I need complete privacy.” And then, bitterly, “My own
Fat Island
, if you will.”

With a flick of his thumb and a flash of an expensive stainless steel watch, Panda knocked over
Field Guide to North American Birds
. Lucy still couldn’t get used to his
GQ
appearance. It felt so wrong.

“Panda has worked security for me in the past,” Temple said. “When I remembered he had this house, I insisted we come here. It was all very
Mission: Impossible
. I flew in on a private plane. He met me at the airfield and smuggled me here in the back of his car.”

“I understand why the two of you are here,” Lucy said, although she didn’t entirely, “but what makes you think I’d stay?”

“Because I need you for cover.”

“Cover?”

“I’ll require special food,” she said. “Panda doesn’t exactly look like a man who’d go into town to buy digestive teas and wheatgrass.”

Lucy didn’t see herself as a woman who’d buy those things either, but she was beginning to get the point, however ludicrous it might be.

Panda nudged a floor lamp out of place with his shoe, a stylish pair of immaculately polished tasseled loafers she’d like to stomp on with her boots.

“I’m going to be here for weeks,” Temple said. “What if I want a copy of
Women’s Health
or
Vogue
? How about moisturizer or hair products? Tampax, for god’s sake.”

Panda’s foot stalled on the ladder-back chair he’d been about to push away from the corner.

“You can order those things online,” Lucy pointed out.

“And I will, but some things I’ll need immediately. And how do we account for the difference between the amount of garbage one person generates and two people? I like to air dry my workout clothes. Women’s clothes. I want to be able to swim. If someone brings their boat into the cove and sees a woman in the water, I can’t let them suspect it’s anyone other than you. There are a hundred ways I can be exposed if there isn’t another female in the house, and if that happens, my career is over forever. Now do you understand?”

Lucy wondered why Temple hadn’t enlisted one of her friends. Then again, Temple didn’t exactly look like the kind of woman who’d have a bevy of BFFs.

She tucked the stem of her sunglasses into the neck of her tunic. “Lucy, I realize you’re an important person in your own right, and I understand this is a hard time for you. I also know you expected to stay here alone. My showing up is an intrusion, and I want to make that right, so....” Her critical gaze swept from Lucy’s dreads to her combat boots. “I’m going to train you for free.”

Lucy was too appalled to respond.

“I charge my private clients six hundred dollars an hour. I know that’s outrageous, but it does make people take their training seriously.” Temple’s brows came together as she gazed at Lucy’s upper arms—and not, Lucy suspected, to study her bloody thorn tattoo. From there, she assessed Lucy’s thighs as they emerged from her shorts—thighs that were only beginning to return to their normal size, thanks to the bread she’d been baking. “We’ll find another motivation for you.”

“Unfortunately, Lucy takes her sloth seriously,” Panda said, his lips thinning. “I doubt she’d be willing to work that hard.”

“I really wouldn’t,” Lucy said hastily. “And I’m sorry, but I can’t possibly help you.” Not with Panda here, she couldn’t.

“I see.” Temple fixed her confident public smile firmly in place, a smile Lucy recognized from having employed it so frequently herself. “I suppose I’d hoped …” She licked her lips. “If anybody sees me … Finds out why I’m here....” Her chin came up another inch. “Panda said you wouldn’t stay.”

Lucy didn’t like Panda predicting her behavior.

Temple’s chin came up another inch. “I really … shouldn’t have counted on it. I …”

And right then it all fell apart. The Evil Queen lost her public smile. Her head dropped, her shoulders sagged, her ramrod spine lost its steel, and tears glimmered in her eyes.

Witnessing an imperious woman’s pain over having her plans thwarted should have been somewhat satisfying. Instead, it was heartbreaking. Temple clearly wasn’t used to falling apart, and she had no practice asking for help. Whatever had caused her to lose control of her weight in the first place was still beating her down.

Lucy didn’t want to leave the island. It would mean leaving Viper behind, something she couldn’t bear thinking about yet. It also meant that this time next week, she’d be wearing pumps and knocking on Fortune 500 doors, her hand outstretched. Instead she wanted to kayak whenever she felt like it, and sit down to write in the office she’d cleaned, and spread fresh honey on her bread. She wanted to carry her morning coffee down to the dock and see how Bree was faring at the farm stand. And she’d miss that little rat Toby.

Unlike Temple, Panda was more than happy with Lucy’s decision. “Lucy tends to be a distraction,” he said to his employer. “It’ll be better this way.”

Better for him.

Lucy didn’t want to share her house with the Evil Queen of
Fat Island.
But more important, she didn’t want to share it with the Evil Bodyguard. Still, it was a big house, and Temple looked so defeated, an emotion Lucy understood better than she wanted to. “I’ll try it for a day or so,” she finally said. “But I won’t promise more than that.”

Panda had counted on her leaving, and he wasn’t pleased. “Obviously, you haven’t thought this through.”

“You’ll stay?” Temple was transformed. Her posture straightened. Her eyes shone. “I can’t thank you enough. And truly … Your body will thank me, too.”

Lucy sincerely doubted that, but she had a more important battle to wage. Staking out her turf. “The big dormitory upstairs will be perfect for your workouts once it’s cleaned up. I know you’ll want Panda nearby. The second floor has four bedrooms and two big bathrooms, so there’s plenty of room for both of you.” Lucy wasn’t giving up the downstairs bedroom, with its sliding doors that led directly outside so she could come and go without seeing either of them. If all went well, she’d only have to meet up with them in the kitchen, and she suspected Temple wouldn’t be spending a lot of time there.

She ignored Panda’s scowl as she offered to show Temple around. “The upstairs is bad, but nothing a couple of dump trucks and a fumigator can’t take care of.”

P
ANDA INSISTED ON ACCOMPANYING THEM
, and as he spotted each change Lucy had made, his scowl grew darker. “Where’s the mirror that used to hang over there?”

“Mirror?”

“And the coatrack?”

“What coatrack?” She’d tossed them both in the garage with all the other junk that had accumulated here.

When they reached the upstairs, she found an ally in Temple. “Didn’t you say you’ve had this place for two years?” she asked as they inspected the dormitory. “Why haven’t you cleaned it up?”

“I like it the way it is,” he said tightly.

Temple gazed with distaste at the rows of mismatched bunk beds. Each had a bare mattress rolled up at the end. She wandered over to the longest wall, which held three large windows, all of them masked with discolored, vinyl-lined curtains. Temple pushed aside one dusty panel. “The view is incredible. You’re right, Lucy. This will be a great workout room.”

Lucy stated the obvious. “The caretaker passed away, so it’s been a while since anyone’s cleaned, but I’m sure Panda can find someone.”

“I can’t have anyone here,” Temple said firmly. She let the curtain fall back and rubbed her dusty fingers together. “Panda and I will do it. Taking care of myself will be a new experience.” And then, with a bitter edge, “I wonder if I still remember how.”

The old Lucy would have volunteered to help, but Viper had no intention of being Temple Renshaw’s personal assistant. She pointed out the linen closet with its piles of mismatched sheets and left them to fend for themselves.

Once she got downstairs, she put away the groceries from her backpack and told herself this just might work. As she cleaned up some dirty dishes, she heard Temple’s voice coming from the hallway. “Really, Panda, you don’t have to do that.” The entreaty in her voice aroused Lucy’s curiosity. She peeked out.

They stood by the front door, where Panda was riffling through Temple’s purse, a luxurious black satchel with heavy silver hardware. Temple fingered the neck of her tunic. “Honestly, Panda, there’s no need. I’m clear about what I came here to do.”

“Then you must have overlooked this.” He pulled out a bar of Toblerone chocolate.

Temple tilted her head and gave him a wide smile. “Congratulations. You passed your first test. This is exactly why I’m paying you a ridiculous amount of money to work for me this summer.”

He tore off the wrapper and bit a big chunk from the end. “Don’t bullshit me, Temple.”

Temple glued her eyes to the candy bar, her smile disappearing. Even from a distance, Lucy could feel her craving. He took another bite and slowly chewed, savoring every morsel, an act of such monumental cruelty he’d surely be damned forever. “Anything I find,” he said, “you’re going to watch me eat.”

Temple was furious. “I don’t have to put up with this!”