The Great Escape (Wynette, Texas #7)(31)

“Believe me. It wasn’t easy.” He stopped blowing into the bullet chambers long enough to take in her hair and the thorn and blood tattoo around her arm. “I hope none of that’s permanent. You look weird.”

“Screw you.” Viper would have said, “Fuck you,” but Lucy’s lips couldn’t quite shape the words. “I’m sure you liked that little job perk you picked up at the end? Nailing the president’s daughter has to give you bragging rights in the bodyguard locker room.”

Now he looked almost as angry as she felt. “Is that what you think?”

What I think is that I lost every shred of my dignity when I came here. “What I think is that you’re a professional, so you should have acted like one. That meant telling me who you were. More important, it meant keeping your hands to yourself.”

He sprang up from the dock. “I damn well did! All those days we were trapped in that shitty little hole on Caddo Lake. The two of us rubbing against each other. You running around in a piece of black cellophane you called a bathing suit and that pink top even somebody half blind could see through. I damn well kept my hands to myself then.”

She’d pierced his armor, a small bandage to her pride. “You knew all about me, Panda—or whatever your name really is. You had a dossier full of information on me, but you didn’t reveal one honest thing about yourself. You played me for an idiot.”

“I didn’t play you at all. What happened that night had nothing to do with the job. We were two people who wanted each other. It’s that simple.”

But it hadn’t been simple to her. If it had been simple, she would never have come here.

“I did my job,” he said. “I don’t owe you any more explanations.”

She had to know—had to ask—and Viper formed a sneer to hide the importance of her question. “Did your job include that pathetic, guilt-filled kiss at the airport?”

“What are you talking about?”

His confusion cracked another layer of her self-esteem. “That kiss had your guilty conscience smeared all over it,” she said. “You wanted some kind of absolution because you knew exactly how sleazy you were.”

He stood there stony-faced. “If that’s the way you see it, I’m not going to try to change your mind.”

She wanted him to change her mind. To say something that would make her feel better about everything that had happened since she’d jumped on the back of his motorcycle. But he didn’t, and she’d only inspire pity if she said more herself.

He didn’t try to hold her back as she left the dock. She stopped at the outdoor shower. With her clothes on, she shampooed the lake water out of her hair, then wrapped a beach towel around herself and went inside. A trail of wet footprints followed her across the kitchen floor. She shot the lock on her bedroom door, peeled off her wet clothes, and slipped into a black tank, her leather-belted green tutu skirt, and her combat boots. She took another few minutes to smudge her eyes in black and her lips in brown, and put in her nose ring. Then she stuffed everything she could fit into her backpack. The ferry left in half an hour. It was finally time to go home.

A late-model dark gray SUV with Illinois plates sat in the drive. Odd to think of him behind the wheel of a car. She climbed on the mountain bike and headed for town.

It was a hot, sunny afternoon. The summer season didn’t launch into high gear until the Fourth of July, but tourists in shorts and flip-flops were already mingling with the locals on Beachcomber Boulevard. The smell of French fries wafted from Dogs ’N’ Malts, a beach shack with a squeaky screen door and splintery picnic tables. She passed the Painted Frog Café, where just yesterday she’d picked up a cappuccino. Next door, a dog lounged in the shade by the entrance to Jerry’s Trading Post. As she took it all in, she realized how much she liked this place, how much she didn’t want to leave it.

Jake’s Dive Shop doubled as the ferry’s ticket office. It smelled of musty rubber and oily coffee. She bought a one-way ticket and stashed the bike in a rack at the municipal dock. Maybe Panda would find it there. Maybe not. She didn’t care.

She joined the line of tourists just beginning to board. A mother jumped out of line to chase a restless toddler. How many times had Lucy imagined herself with Ted’s baby? Now she wondered if she’d ever have a child.

She wished she’d asked Panda more questions, like what kind of reputable bodyguard thought it was a good idea to toss his client on the back of a motorcycle and take off on a road trip? The person in line behind her moved too close and bumped her backpack. She edged forward, but it happened again. She turned and gazed up into a pair of cold blue eyes.

“What I told you was true.” His voice was gruff, his mouth unsmiling. “The bumper stickers were already on the bike. I didn’t put them there.”

He wore the same wet clothes she’d dunked him in, and his hair wasn’t quite dry. She was determined to keep her dignity. “I so don’t care.”

“And I only wore those T-shirts to rile you.” His gaze made its way to her tutu skirt and combat boots. “You look like a teenager turned hooker for drug money.”

“Lend me one of your T-shirts,” she retorted. “I’m sure that’ll polish up my appearance.”

He was receiving his customary amount of attention, and he lowered his voice. “Look, Lucy, this situation was a lot more complicated than you want to acknowledge.” He moved with her as the line edged forward. “The whole world was covering your wedding. You needed your own security.”