The Great Escape (Wynette, Texas #7)(40)

“You’re such a loser.” She cut across the road, turned around, and started back to the house.

He didn’t follow her.

When she got back, she biked to the beach at the south tip of the island and sat on top of a sand dune to watch the sun set over the lake. When she finally went back to the house, she found Panda sitting in one of the six mismatched chairs that surrounded the fake Victorian kitchen table she’d grown to hate, not just for its chipped green paint and ugly, too-bulky legs—one of which was propped up with a piece of folded cardboard—but because it symbolized everything that needed tending in this once-lively house.

Although the pizza box lay open in front of him, only a few slices were missing. He looked up as she came in, and the yellow light from the Tiffany-like shade hanging above the table shadowed his already swarthy skin. She addressed him impersonally, as if they were only the most distant of acquaintances. “I’ve been staying in your bedroom, and since you’re leaving tomorrow, I’d rather not move out for just one night.”

He propped his elbow on the back of his chair. “It’s my room.”

It was also the only bedroom on the first floor, which made it feel like a safe refuge from him. “I’ll be happy to make up one of the other beds for you,” she said.

“And if I object?”

“Then I’ll move, and you can sleep on my dirty sheets.”

He gave her his badass sneer. “Let me think about it.”

She countered with cool formality. “I’d appreciate it if you’d think quickly. I’ve had a long day, and I want to turn in.”

His sneer turned to a shrug. “Sleep wherever you like. I don’t care. And I’ll make up my own bed.” He turned to the door, then stopped himself. “One more thing. Leave the house alone. Everything stays the way it is.”

She’d see about that.

But he wasn’t done giving her a hard time. Not long after she’d turned out the bedroom light, she heard a knock. “I forgot my toothbrush,” he said through the door.

She got out of bed, retrieved his toothbrush from the medicine cabinet, unlocked the bedroom door, and pushed it through the crack.

From the angry way his jaw locked, she might as well have been holding a switchblade. “You locked the door?” he said in a voice that smoked like dry ice.

“Habit,” she replied uneasily.

“You locked the door?”

She’d come off like a kid if she mentioned how spooky the house was at night, so she shrugged.

His brows slammed together, and the corner of his mouth cocked with contempt. “Babe, if I wanted to get in that room, no lock would keep me out. But why would I bother? You weren’t that good anyway.”

She sucked in her breath and slammed the door in his face.



PANDA WANTED TO PUNCH SOMETHING. Himself. How many times was he going to blow it with her? But she got him so pissed off.

Bitch deserved it. If she hadn’t made me so mad, I wouldn’t have hit her.

He’d heard exactly those words during hundreds of domestic violence calls where some * tried to justify beating the shit out of a woman with the same excuse. The fact that he’d used words instead of his fists didn’t make him any better than they were.

He shoved his fingers into his hair. Be the best at what you’re good at. But everything connected with Lucy Jorik had been one big screwup after another, right from the beginning. As soon as he picked her up in that alley, he should have taken her back to her family. All those games he’d played trying to scare her off had done nothing more than make him feel like a colossal jerk. One mistake after another, each leading to the biggest mistake of all. That last night.

It had been hard enough keeping his hands off her when they were at Caddo, but that last night in the motel had snapped his self-control. He’d spent too many hours with her pressed against his back, too many days watching those green-flecked brown eyes flash tornado signals at him whenever she felt vulnerable.

He raised his fist to knock on the door again, then let his arm fall. What was the point of apologizing? The last thing she wanted right now was to see any more of him.

He headed down the musty old hallway and up the stairs of this haunted house he hadn’t been able to stop himself from buying. The life he’d lived had given him more than enough emotional shit to deal with. He didn’t need more, especially not with the daughter of the f*cking president of the United States.

He couldn’t get off this island fast enough.



LUCY AVOIDED PANDA THE NEXT morning by slipping out through the sliding doors in her bedroom onto the deck that led to the backyard. She rode her bike into town and had coffee and a muffin at one of the Painted Frog’s outside café tables. Other than some assessing glances at her hair and tattoo from a couple of teenage girls, no one paid any attention to her. The feeling of leaving Lucy Jorik behind was heady.

After she finished, she rode toward the north tip of the island. She loved the island’s shabby edges. This was no playground for the rich and famous. Plumbers and shoe salesmen came here. Kids who attended state colleges and families pushing babies in Walmart strollers. If Mat and Nealy hadn’t come into her life, a place like this would have been her fantasy vacation spot.

The Fourth of July was almost two weeks away, but boaters were already out on the water. She passed a farm, then a wooden shack with a hand-lettered sign advertising the BEST SMOKED WHITEFISH ON THE ISLAND. A small inland lake spiked with cattails lay on her left, a marsh spread to her right, with the bigger body of Lake Michigan beyond that. Gradually the hardwoods shading the road gave way to pine, and then the trees disappeared altogether as the road narrowed into the exposed point of the island.