Dangerous Waters (7 page)

Megan closed and locked the front door. She was proud of her casual tone when she said good night to Mac. "I'm tired. It's been a long day."

They were in the narrow hallway. But when she took a step forward, Mac didn't move, and she hesitated. If he didn't stand politely aside, she would have to brush by him to get to the stairs. It seemed safer to wait.

"You don't have to run away from me," he said. His voice was quiet, his body relaxed. Yet she had the sense of him coiled and ready, the stillness an illusion.

"I'm not running away," she lied. "I think you should get some rest, too. I'll bet the doctor didn't intend for you to chase after me all day."

Amusement showed in his gray eyes. "Is that what I've been doing?"

"When you weren't scaring me to death," she said tartly.

"I meant well."

"If I didn't believe that, you wouldn't be here."

"You're just humoring me, aren't you?"

"That's right," Megan agreed. "Now if you'll excuse me?"

Mac smiled and stood aside. But as she passed, Megan made the mistake of pausing. Her glance met his and she saw the way he looked at her, the smile gone but his mouth curiously tender. Her feet seemed rooted to the floor. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he took a step toward her and his hands gripped her upper arms. She could feel his warmth and her heart climbed into her throat. Her voice didn't sound like her own. "I don't think..."

"I'm sure you're right," he said huskily. His eyes held an odd light and he let go of one of her arms to lightly grasp her chin instead. She couldn't have moved to save her life. All the tumult of the last days seemed to have been leading to this, as though it were all that mattered.

"I should let you go," he murmured. But now his thumb traced soft patterns on her cheek.

"I...I..." Where were the words? But it was too late, she knew, when she saw his gaze lower to her mouth. The next moment he was kissing her.

Gently, oh so gently. His lips brushed hers, touched her cheek as lightly as a snowflake that melted against her warmth. She made a small, shaky sound, flattening her hands on his chest. He groaned and for just an instant his mouth hardened with demand and his arms tightened. Heat shuddered through Megan, frightening her with its insistence, and she resisted, pushing blindly against his chest. Immediately he released her and stepped back, his hands falling to his sides.

Breathing hard, they stared at each other in taut silence. What was she doing? Megan thought in horror. He was an almost total stranger who would be gone soon, the man he'd been here forgotten. Nothing to it, he'd said. But she couldn't forget so easily.

His eyes were hooded, his voice rough when he said, "I'm sorry."

Megan only nodded jerkily. Without a word she passed him and went up the stairs to her bedroom. He still stood unmoving in the hall below when she gently closed her bedroom door.

CHAPTER 4

Kissing Megan Lovell was one of the stupidest damn things he'd ever done. Mac turned restlessly on the thin, hard mattress, no nearer sleep than he had been an hour ago. What the hell had he been thinking?

He didn't like even acknowledging his attraction to her. He owed her. He couldn't afford to complicate that. Without much success, he tried to convince himself that his uneasiness was rooted in his dislike of owing that kind of debt. He was used to operating without ties. His most recent bureau partner, well, that was different. They had a working relationship. Neither had tried to becomes buddies.

Mac's every instinct screamed for him to run, but he couldn't desert Megan, no matter how stubbornly she dug in her heels. And who knew? Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the two hit men had congratulated each other on a job well done and never looked back. Maybe no stringer for UPI would notice the article in the Devil's Lake Caller. Maybe he and Megan would get lucky.

Unfortunately, Mac didn't believe in luck.

He did finally sleep, but not deeply. The throaty bark of a dog didn't quite fit in Mac's dream, and he surfaced so quickly, he was alert before his eyes were open.

The barking came from upstairs, though even as he sat up and reached for his gun he heard the scrabble of claws on the stairs as the big golden retriever bounded down, baying all the way. Mac swung his legs off the bed and rose soundlessly. The dog hit the bottom of the stairs and slid on the wood floor as he turned toward the kitchen. If there had been an intruder at all, he was probably long gone.

Then Mac heard the tinkle of glass breaking. Zachary's barks deepened to a roar. Mac slipped across the hall into the dark kitchen right behind the dog. The big windows at the dining end allowed just enough light so that he could see a silhouette. The bastard was climbing through the broken window even though eighty pounds of fierce muscle and teeth was launching itself at him.

A flurry of movement, and something rammed into the dog, who fell with a howl of mixed pain and anger. Mac covered the kitchen at a run, crouching to make himself as small a target as possible.

"Freeze!" he snapped, locking into a stance and taking aim.

Things happened too fast then. He couldn't tell whether the dark shape in the shattered window hesitated at all before Zachary scrambled to his feet and lunged again, knocking a kitchen chair against Mac's bare legs.

He stumbled sideways. The intruder swung something that slammed against Mac's shoulder, driving him to his knees. Mac flung the chair away, but by the time he was up, the intruder was gone. Still barking, Zachary leaped through the window and disappeared in pursuit.

Mac swore and headed for the front door. He dove out it into the shrubs, than ran across the damp grass to the protection of a tree. At the end of the driveway the retriever's barks were cut off at the same instant a car engine started. Mac abandoned caution and sprinted down the driveway. The gravel cut into his bare feet.

Tires squealed. The car was gone by the time he reached the road.

Mac swore again, bitterly. If it weren't for the damn dog... Yeah, if it weren't for the dog he might not have awakened at all.

Where was the dog? Mac whistled. Silence. He'd better get some shoes on, and a flashlight. Limping, he returned to the house. The front door still stood open, but now light poured onto the porch. He shook his head in disbelief. Why didn't she just have invitations engraved?

Inside, Megan waited, her heart pounding, her mother's walking stick clutched in sweaty hands. It had been all she could do to make herself creep down the stairs. The silence was now more terrifying than the crashes and Zachary's ferocious barking earlier, when she had been pulled out of a deep sleep.

When with a lurch of relief she recognized the man who appeared in the doorway, she slowly lowered the stick.

He glowered at her. "Why don't you open the back door while you're at it?"

"Don't yell at me," she retorted. "You're the one who left the door open."

"Yeah, and what if I hadn't been the one who walked through it?" He kicked it shut.

She hoped her voice didn't sound shaky. "I figured I was safe. Not too many burglars work with bare feet."

Not that she felt safe. There was nothing about the angry man in front of her to reassure the timid. Especially not if the timid happened to be a woman. He'd been dangerous enough lying in a hospital bed. Stalking toward her, the next thing to naked, he made her heart rise into her throat. He wore black sweatpants that hung low on his hips and emphasized how narrow they were in contrast to wide shoulders and sleekly muscled chest. His legs were long and powerful, the gun that he carried in one hand a violent match for the scar that slashed across his stomach. Megan was forcibly reminded of the last time she had faced him, right here in this hall.

Swallowing, she took a step back. "Where...where's Zachary?"

"I don't know. Do you have a flashlight?"

She retreated a few more steps. "I...I'll get one.”

He strode past her into the living room, where he snatched up a sweatshirt. Megan closed her eyes. She wouldn't watch him get dressed. She wouldn't.

Zachary, she reminded herself. Think about Zachary. Her cowardly, afraid-of-thunder dog who had sounded far from afraid. Please, she prayed, please don't let him be dead. If he was, it would be her fault, because she hadn't listened to Mac.

"You can open your eyes now," Mac said drily.

Flushing, she did. A black sweatshirt matched the pants, and he had shoved his feet into shoes. "The...the flashlight," she faltered. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to things like this."

They both heard the scratch on the door at the same moment. Mac lifted the gun and jerked his head at her to open the door. With trepidation she obeyed.

"Zachary?" The big golden retriever hobbled through the opening. Megan fell to her knees and hugged the soft animal. "Oh, sweetie, are you all right?" A comforting wet tongue slopped across her face.

Mac locked the door and laid the gun down on the hall table. "Let me take a look."

She sank back on her heels, keeping a reassuring hand on the dog's broad head. Mac eased a hand over the retriever's legs, and finally shrugged. "He's not in too serious shape."

"Are you all right?" Megan asked, guiltily wondering about the crashes.

Mac started to shrug, then grimaced. "Yeah. More or less. Let's take a look at your kitchen."

Megan followed him, trying to keep an anxious eye on both man and dog. Zachary limped and Mac moved stiffly, but—as he'd put it—neither seemed to be in very serious shape.

Mac snapped the light on, and Megan stood in silence beside him. The large window looking out toward the lake had been shattered. Shards of glass glittered on the floor and gaped wickedly from the window frame. The table had been shoved to one side and one chair lay in the middle of the kitchen floor. Beside it was a four-foot length of two-by-four.

Suddenly cold, Megan crossed her arms, hugging herself. "Did he...did he get inside?"

She felt Mac's gaze, but didn't meet it. "He had a leg swung over the windowsill when I got in here. He wasn't about to let a dog stop him."

A shiver traveled up her spine. She looked at the two-by-four, grayed by weather. It could have been picked up off the top of anybody's pile of scrap lumber. Would it hold fingerprints? she wondered. Would this stranger who'd taken over her life let her call the police and find out?

"You know what that means," Mac said.

"No. No, I don't."

"It means he wasn't some local kid trying to steal your TV. The dog would have scared him off."

Megan shivered convulsively. "You're scaring me.

"Good." His blunt tone was brutal. "I hope to God you'll listen to me now."

Anger snapped her out of her paralysis. "I wish I'd never..." Megan stopped abruptly.

"Never seen me?" He looked at her sardonically. "Just don't expect me to agree with you."

She closed her eyes. "I didn't mean that. You know I don't. I just... I just wish none of this was happening."

"Megan..." His large hand cupped the side of her face and lifted it so that she opened her eyes. The gentleness in those dark gray eyes scared her more than the sound of shattering glass had. "I'm sorry," he said roughly. "I wish you hadn't been involved, too. If I could change it, I would. But I can't let you pay a price for saving me."

Holding herself very still under his touch, she said, "I'm not a child..."

"I've noticed."

He didn't have to say anything more to make her acutely conscious of the awareness in his eyes, the twist of his hard mouth.

"Don't do this," she whispered.

"Do you think I want to?"

"I don't know!" The words came out too loud, and she jerked away. "I don't know you.”

He swung away. "Go to bed," he growled. "We'll talk about it in the morning."

"Shouldn't we call the police?"

"Tomorrow. Go on."

Something in the rigidity of his back and the sandpaper quality to his voice silenced any argument she might have made. She had no reason to trust him, but she had told her brother the truth: up to a point, she did. And he was right; the kitchen wouldn't look any different tomorrow. But she would feel differently in daylight, safer.

And so she went, without another word, ignoring the part of her that wanted very badly to find out what would happen if she stayed.

*****

Mac didn't let himself watch her go. That would have been a luxury he couldn't afford. He already knew he wouldn't sleep the rest of the night. There was no guarantee that their visitor wouldn't come back once he calmed down and realized he'd faced one man and a dog, not a phalanx of local cops.

Not that he'd have slept anyway. Last night's kiss had been even stupider than he realized. He supposed he'd thought one taste of her would satisfy his curiosity. Instead it had awakened a hunger he hadn't felt in a long time. Hunger for soft curves and a tender touch, for passion and dark nights and a throaty voice calling his name. No, worse yet. What he'd suddenly remembered was the forever he had dreamed about as a child. Then he had imagined a mother who would kiss him good night, who would bake fresh cookies and take him to Little League baseball, be a helper in his first-grade classroom and drive on field trips. Well, that wasn't exactly what he had in mind now. He laughed without any amusement at all. No, right now forever had something to do with unfathomable eyes and sweaty nights, cold water and arms that would never let go.

He'd take the sweaty nights. None of the rest were for him. He hated water, cold or otherwise. And he had learned to prize the freedom that was the one legacy of his childhood. A woman like Megan Lovell could endanger it.

That didn't mean he could put her out of his mind. In any other circumstances, he would have tried to seduce her. One kiss had tantalized him, but if he could have all of her, he'd be satisfied. One long night... Yeah, one long night that he wouldn't have. He owed her. That meant protecting and serving, not using her to satisfy sexual needs.

It'd be a hell of a lot easier if only her blue eyes didn't sometimes become smoky with awareness just as sexual as his own. He wished he didn't know how her mouth softened under his, how pliant her graceful, athletic body became. He wished he didn't know that she was the kind of woman who would never let go once she made up her mind to love a man.