The Great Escape (Wynette, Texas #7)(69)

Lucy doubted Sophie could hear her mother above the crashing waves, but the child wasn’t fighting Panda’s grip on her. He had to be tiring, but he kept talking to her as he began struggling toward the shore against the tumbling surf.

The mother tried to crawl past Lucy to the jetty’s edge, but her thin sandals didn’t have the grip of Lucy’s boots, and she kept slipping. “Get back,” Lucy ordered. “I’ll get her.”

Panda drew close. He caught Lucy’s eye. A wave hit her in the knees as she crouched down. She braced herself, reached out. He lifted the child and with almost superhuman strength, managed to press her into Lucy’s arms. Sophie blindly fought this new stranger’s grip, but Lucy held tight until Panda pulled himself up. The mother was scrambling toward them, but Sophie threw herself at Panda. He gathered her up and carried her off the rocks onto the path, his strong, tanned arms incongruous against the little pink T-shirt.

Even then, she clung to him. He dropped to a crouch and cradled her. “You’re safe, champ. It’s over. Did you leave any water in that lake, or did you swallow it all? I’ll bet you swallowed it. I’ll bet there’s no lake left …”

He went on like that. Nonsense. Insisting she’d drunk the lake dry until she finally turned to look, saw it wasn’t true, and began to argue with him.

Her mother took longer to recover. She alternated between hugging her child as if she’d never let her go again and repeatedly thanking Panda through her tears. In the distance, Temple had given up her walking lunges in favor of jogging and was heading back toward them, oblivious to what she’d missed.

Panda listened patiently to the mother’s frantic chatter about where they were from and why her husband wasn’t with them. He talked to Sophie again and her brother. When he was eventually satisfied that the mother was capable of driving, he helped her load the kids in the car. The mother grabbed him in an awkward hug. “God sent you to us today. You were His angel.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, all stern-faced cop.

The woman finally pulled out of the parking lot. Beads of water still clung to Panda’s beard stubble, but the ends of his hair had already started to curl. “Just so you know … ,” Lucy said, “I’m not mad at you anymore.”

He gave her a tired smile. “Give me a couple of hours, and I can fix that.”

Tight little buds of warmth began unfurling inside her.

Temple appeared, red-faced and out of breath. “Why are you wet?”

“Long story,” he said.

As they drove home, Lucy thought about his patience with the hysterical mother. But most of all, she thought about his gentleness with Sophie. The way he related to kids didn’t fit what she thought she knew about him. Even Sophie’s bratty little brother … When the boy had lost patience with not being the center of attention, Lucy had wanted to throttle him, but Panda had engaged him in a discussion of the lifesaving techniques every “man” should know.

Panda was a chameleon. One minute, a surly, barely articulate biker; the next, a no-nonsense bodyguard to the world’s most demanding client; and today, a combination superhero and child psychologist.

He unsettled her. Disarmed her. Confused her. She knew people couldn’t be pigeonholed, but she’d never known anyone who resisted a label more than he did.



LUCY FROWNED AT THE MICROWAVE-SHRIVELED green bean draping the clump of chicken on her plate that night. Temple gazed longingly toward the refrigerator, as if she hoped a stream of hot fudge would magically pour out of the water dispenser.

Panda had been quiet all through dinner, but now he pushed his plate away. “I have a surprise for the two of you.”

“Tell me it involves pastry,” Lucy said. “Or letting me cook real food.” Salad was the only contribution she was permitted to make to a meal—all vegetables, no cheese, no olives, no croutons or creamy salad dressing.

“Nope.” He kicked back in his chair. “We’re going out on the water to watch the fireworks.”

“I’ll pass,” Temple said. “Two kayaks for three people isn’t my idea of fun.”

“No kayaks.” He got up from the table. “I’ll meet you both down at the dock. No excuses.”

While Temple finished her dinner Lucy grabbed a sweatshirt and went outside to see what Panda was up to. A black-hulled cabin cruiser, maybe twenty-five feet long, was moored at the dock, a boat that hadn’t been there last time she’d looked down here. “Where did this come from?” she asked.

Panda tossed a pair of life preservers in a locker on the deck. “I talked to Big Mike a couple of days ago. His guys delivered it while we were at the parade and hid it in the boathouse. I leased it for the rest of the summer.”

“What’s this?” Temple said, coming down the steps.

After he’d explained, Temple began calculating how many calories waterskiing burned.

Lucy couldn’t stand it. “I’ll make a deal with you, Temple. If you promise not to use the word calorie for the rest of the night, I’ll work out with you tomorrow. For a little while,” she quickly added.

“Deal,” Temple said. “Really, Lucy, you won’t believe what a difference rigorous exercise makes in—”

“You also can’t talk about exercise, fat grams, cellulite, or any of the rest of that crap,” Lucy said. “Basically, you can only talk about sloth.”