by JoAnn Ross
"Surely you must have overheard something. Perhaps I can help out your memory," Amanda suggested silkily.
"Nah. I don't think so."
"Oh, I think I could, sugar," she drawled, tossing in a little Lorelei Fairchild. That belle routine had worked gangbusters with Warren, who was so far beyond this man in intelligence they could have been born on different planets.
"How do you figure to help my memory when I don't got one in the first place?" He was clearly tempted. He also knew something he wasn't saying. Every time he lied to her, his eyes went darting all over the room like nervous birds trying to escape.
"Sometimes we have things in our minds, but we just have to know the way to get them out. Why don't we play a little game?" Her lush tone and come-and-get-me-big-boy gaze returned his attention to her.
His broad brow furrowed. "What kinda game?"
"It's like Truth or Dare, but with a twist. We ask each other questions, and if you guess the answer, I have to give you a kiss. If I answer yours, you get to kiss me."
He folded his arms across his chest. "That's all we're talkin' about?" His eyes narrowed to slits. "Just a kiss?"
Deciding he might not be quite as dumb as she'd first suspected, Amanda smiled her most dazzling smile. "Just for starters. It's tike Jeopardy."
"Don't watch Jeopardy. I like that millionaire show, 'cause you got more time to answer the questions."
"We'll play like that one, then," she assured him. "The more questions you answer, the more you win."
She was looking up at him through the fringe of lashes Damien had darkened with several layers of mascara. Had that been only this morning?
"Guess that sounds like an okay deal."
More than okay; she could see the anticipation glowing in his lust-filled eyes.
"Doesn't it?" Amanda could be slick, aggressive, shrewd and decidedly mercenary. Even, on occasion, under the right circumstances and the proper motivation, kittenish. But she was definitely at her best when she turned meltingly, implicitly sexual. "So, if you'll just be a sweetheart and untie me—"
"Maybe I don't want to. I've never fucked a woman when she was tied up before. It'd be just like bein' one of them porn stars. Sometimes I think I could be real good at that. Mr. Timex is just as big as them on the videos."
Julia categorically refused to ask.
"Don't you wanna know why I call my Johnson Mr. Timex?" he asked slyly.
If there was any bit of information she could go her entire life without learning, it was why this swamp creature had named his penis. Damn. "Only if you want to tell me, sugar," Amanda cooed.
" 'Cause it takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin’” He winked and put his hand on the crotch of the filthy jeans he must have changed into after discarding that scratchy wool uniform. "Which you're about to find out."
"Now, doesn't that sound like fun?" It was all she could do not to throw up at the idea. "But this bed is awful narrow and I'll bet the springs just squeak to beat the band, which doesn't bother me all that much, since all my attention's going to be on giving you a good time. But you might not want Jimmy to hear what's goin' on in here."
She watched the wheels grind exceedingly slowly as he followed that thought to its logical conclusion. If she couldn't get this idiot to untie her soon, Jimmy would finish his conversation with whoever had hatched this plot and she'd lose her chance to escape.
"If I untie you, you gotta promise me you won't try to escape," he finally decided.
"Oh, I surely do," she said. "In fact, I'd cross my heart, if my hand was free." She forced an Amanda smile she had never felt less like in her life.
She nearly wept with relief when it turned out that whoever had tied her had used a basic slip knot, which allowed the rope to loosen swiftly. She took a breath that was meant to calm, tried to remember what her ninjitsu master had taught her about staying centered, then stood up on legs that were decidedly wobbly.
She skimmed her fingers over his prickly jaw, around his chin, managing to dodge the mouth that had been aimed for hers. The idea of this man kissing her nearly made her gag, but Julia reminded herself that it was only acting, something she did every day.
Her hands continued down his chest. She toyed teasingly with his belt buckle, then knelt in front of him. He was watching her with a fixed, unblinking look that reminded her of an alligator watching a nutria.
She could do this. It was only acting.
She unfastened the buckle, and slid the stiff, stained denim down his thin legs. Mr. Timex stirred beneath the yellowed white cotton briefs. Drawing in a calming breath, Julia drew the briefs down his legs.
She cast a cautious glance up at him. He'd closed his eyes, waiting. Anticipating. His pants were down around his ankles, like shackles.
It was now or never. She took another deep breath, then found her center, aligning herself as she'd been taught—mind, heart, will, and intention. Then she jerked on his ankles, pulling him off his feet in a move that might not be textbook ninjitsu, but effective.
He landed flat on his back with a thud, causing Julia to cringe when the back of his head connected with the cypress planks, and she hoped she hadn't killed him. She was relieved when she pressed her fingers against his throat and found a pulse, then used his belt to hog-tie him. It was nearly the same ploy Amanda had used to escape that horny alien. When she got out of here, Julia was going to kiss Warren for having written it.
She opened the door gingerly, relieved when it didn't squeak. She couldn't see jimmy, but could hear his voice coming from the shadows around the comer of the cabin. He was arguing loudly, and from his tone, she suspected he was not coming out on the winning side.
"If you're not going to get out here and take the bitch off our hands, I'll just take care of the problem myself," he shouted.
Julia suspected that his method of taking care of "the problem" would not be a good thing.
She'd practiced the ancient act of silent walking in her classes, though she'd never expected to use it, and she was extremely grateful for her training as she slipped through the shadows away from the cabin. Whenever she stepped on a branch or accidently splashed through water, she reminded herself that her instructor had taught her that some noise was all right. After all, nature was not entirely still.
While she had no way of knowing where she was or where she was going, she did know that she didn't want to be out here all alone when the sun, which was a great deal lower in the sky now, went down.
Her actions might be considered foolhardy, but taking her chances with the bayou seemed far preferable to trusting Jimmy to release her.
Once she was about a hundred yards from the cabin, she began to move slowly, cautiously, down the narrow road, cringing at the crunching sound of her nineteenth-century slippers on the clamshell gravel. But to leave the road would be risking sinking into the swamp.
"It'll be okay," she assured herself, stifling a scream as a gator floated past her in the dark, silent water. They definitely looked less threatening out at Beau Soleil, when she was surrounded by people. And, of course, when she was with Finn, who had his gun and could shoot one dead if it decided to eat her.
Finn—he was going to be frantic. And, she feared, furious at himself. Then there were her parents. She'd wanted to save them from worrying; now they had something far worse to be concerned about.
She'd have to make it up to them when she got back to Blue Bayou safe and sound. And she would be all right, Julia insisted. Because the alternative was unthinkable.
Chapter 28
There's something funny going on," Finn said to his brothers when they'd gathered to devise a new plan. There were miles of swamp; locating Julia once it turned dark would be like finding the proverbial needle in the haystack.
"What's that?" Nate glugged from a plastic bottle of water, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Despite the ominous dark clouds gathering overhead, searching was hot, sweaty work.
"Nearly every guy, and a lot
of the women, too, have been dragging their asses all over this place today." Even that magenta-haired makeup guy had stripped off today's skintight purple leather pants, changed into some uniform trousers Audrey had given him, and had hardly stopped long enough to take a piss.
"It's not surprising that we'd have so many volunteers. It's obvious everyone likes Jules," Nate said. "With good reason."
"Kendall hasn't joined the search." Finn said what had been nagging at his mind for the past couple hours. Nate and Jack glanced over at the producer, who was away from the others, talking into a cell phone. Which wasn't unusual; his ear had been practically glued to the thing since he'd arrived in Blue Bayou. Nor was his obvious irritation with whoever was on the other end of the line unusual; he'd already demonstrated himself to be impatient and unpleasant.
"He's not in real good shape," jack said. "I'm not sure he'd last five minutes."
"And he hasn't seemed like the type to put himself out for anyone else," Nate said.
"True enough. But you'd still think he'd at least pretend to show some concern."
"Are you suggesting he has something to do with this?" Nate asked. "That doesn't make any sense. She's too important to the show."
"The show just wrapped for the season," Finn pointed out. "And she's not coming back."
Nate frowned. "All the more reason why he's not a real strong suspect. He doesn't have a dog in this fight anymore."
"How about insurance?" Jack asked. "Does the show carry a policy on her?"
"Yeah." Finn had already looked it up the night he'd found out about the cat pills. "A million dollars, which is chicken feed for a place like Atlantic Pharmaceuticals. It runs out the same time her contract does. Tomorrow."
Jack blew out a breath. "I've seen people killed for a lot less back when I was workin' DEA."
They both had.
We'll find her, Finn vowed. As they resumed searching, he found himself desperately praying to a God he'd thought he'd stopped believing in sometime between Lawson's fifth and sixth victims.
* * *
The sun was blood red and going down as Julia came around a corner and saw the building. It was weathered, the paint was peeling, the metal roof rusted, and the plank door had been faded by time and sun to a dingy rust color. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
She muttered a heartfelt "damn" when her skirt caught on a bush, causing her to fall to her knees. Again. Fighting back tears—she couldn't waste energy on anything that wasn't going to get her back to Blue Bayou, to Finn—she pushed herself to her feet and resumed stumbling toward it.
The interior of the building was dark and cheerless, smelling of sawdust and despair. A tall, lean African-American man who didn't look at all suited to such a depressing place stood behind the bar. Behind him on the wall were dark bottles, dim lamps and dusty bottles of wine. And a baseball bat, which she assumed he must use to keep order.
Not that it appeared any of the bar's clientele was capable of causing any trouble. Hunched over their drinks, they looked as if life had defeated them and they were just waiting for the final bell. There were a few muttered complaints as the sun entered with her, then most went back to contemplating the universe in their glasses, as if answers could be found in the brown depths of whiskey.
Strangely, now that she was reasonably safe, fright came crashing down on her. The whippet-slender man came out from behind the bar in seconds, catching her shoulders with firm, capable hands as she swayed.
"Please," she managed. She'd put her teeth through her bottom lip during one of her many falls, and suspected it must be terribly swollen by the way she had trouble getting the single word out. She swallowed and tried again. "May I use your phone?"
* * *
Finn found her safe, thank God, in the tiny room the bartender of the No Name called an office. She was sitting on a cracked vinyl couch that looked as ancient and abused as the men who were sitting on stools out in the bar, cradling a cup of tea in her hands. Her hair was a wild, matted tangle around her shoulders, her dress was torn and muddy, and more mud and bruises darkened her face and arms. She'd never looked more beautiful to him.
"Carma Sutra, I presume?" he asked with a calm that belied his pounding heart.
"It's about time you showed up, Special Agent," she said with the same feigned casualness. There'd been no disguising the joy and relief that had flooded into her eyes, the same joy and relief that had swept over him.
"Are you all right?" He sat down beside her and cupped his hands over her shoulders. Her face was scratched and a large bruise in the shape of a handprint darkened her cheek, infuriating him.
"I am now." She lifted a hand to the cheek of this man she loved. "Because you're here."
She managed to give him an edited version of events. There was no point in bringing up the details about her undressing her captor; it wasn't germane to their situation.
He called the state police on his cell phone, gave them the new location to search, then tipped her face back, a finger under her chin. "I should have been there for you." His touch was tender, but a fury hot enough to melt glass biased in his eyes. "In the swamp."
"You're here now." She curled her fingers around his wrist, and lay her throbbing cheek against his palm. "That's all that matters." She sighed. "I don't suppose they're at the cabin anymore."
"Probably not. But it doesn't matter: they're not going to be able to get away with every cop in the state looking for them. And when we find them, I'll get them to tell me who hired them."
Looking at his face, Julia didn't want to think about how he'd conduct that interrogation. "I know you're angry—"
"That's putting it mildly."
"—but you have to promise me you won't bring out the rubber hoses." She was kidding. Mostly. "If not for me, for your own career. You're just coming off suspension, Callahan. I'd hate to be responsible for your losing your shield for good."
"I'll try to restrain myself. For you."
He kissed her on the brow. Julia could feel the anger in him slowly fading away, just as the fear that had left her feeling so shaky began to dissolve. It was so good to be with him. Amazingly, and as impossible as she would have thought it a mere two weeks ago, they were good together.
The sight of her being carried out of the office and across the floor garnered the attention of every grizzled barfly in the place.
"You don't have to do this," she insisted. "I can walk."
"Of course you can. But maybe I like the idea of sweeping you of your feet."
"Why, gracious, Special Agent, are you suggesting that there's a romantic lurking inside that big, manly body?"
"I guess there is now."
He paused just long enough to introduce her to the man behind the bar, Alcee Bonaparte, who was a childhood friend of all the Callahan brothers. Then took her outside to the Suburban and buckled her up with the tenderness and care one might expect for a precious child.
"By the way," he said mildly, "I had Nate move your stuff from the inn to Beau Soleil. I want to keep you under wraps until it's time to put you on the plane."
There'd been a time when Julia might have considered his behavior highhanded. No longer. "Are you sure it'll be okay with your brother and his wife?"
"Actually, it was Jack's idea, and Dani was all for it. They just got back this afternoon." He twisted the key in the ignition. Then turned toward her. "Damn."
"What's wrong?"
"I forgot something."
He was looking at her that way again. That hot, bone-melting way she knew would still possess the power to thrill her in her nineties, when the only Bond Girl role she'd be able to win would be 007's grandmother.
"What?" she asked in a whisper as her mouth went dry.
"This." He bent his head and kissed her with the slow, deep reassurance they both needed.
* * *
Peace wept openly when Finn returned her daughter to her, safe and sound. Freedom's eyes gleamed with moisture.
"I owe you, man." He held out his hand and in the handshake that followed, both men knew their previously cautious relationship had just been cemented.
Finn introduced her to the rest of his family. She could see both Nate and Finn in Jack, but this middle brother was edgier, his eyes darker, cheekbones sharper, his personality seemingly roughly honed. His flowing black hair had been pulled back into a ponytail which, along with his gleaming gold earring and rakish grin, had her thinking of the pirates that had once hidden out in this bayou after raiding Spanish ships on the Gulf.
His embrace was so easy, so natural, that Julia suspected he was a toucher. There was nothing sexual in the gesture, and as he introduced her to his wife, it was obvious that Danielle Dupree Callahan was the only woman in the world for him. Love, devotion, and pride radiated from every male pore.
Dani was slender, with warm hazel eyes and a slide of blond hair that stopped at her shoulders. "I'm so pleased you'll be staying with us," she said with a welcoming smile. "Jack and I thought you'd like our room." When Julia started to protest, she held up her hand. "I insist. As you no doubt noticed while you were filming in the house, the upstairs is still in what will undoubtedly be a lifetime renovation, and the guest room is filled with paint cans. Besides, my clever husband installed a bathtub I suspect would be considered decadent even in Hollywood."
Julia was filthy, sore, and felt like something that had been dragged out of the swamp. The tub clinched it. "That sounds wonderful."
While Julia, Peace, and Dani-chatted about house renovations, Finn checked out the group who'd gathered for her return. They all seemed openly and honestly relieved, including Kendall. Which left Finn without a suspect.
Even as he assured himself that Julia would be safe once she was on the way to Kathmandu, Finn knew he wouldn't feel comfortable until whoever had orchestrated the kidnapping was behind bars. But meanwhile, Lawson was out there . . .
Once again he was forced to wonder if Lawson had come after him, and decided to use Julia as a pawn. That idea was gaining more credence when a slight movement behind one of the tombs got his attention.