Dangerous Waters

by Janice Kay Johnson

  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.

  *****

  Megan woke to the smell of bacon and coffee. She showered and dressed in blue jeans and a white cotton sweater, then used the excuse of braiding her hair to dawdle.

  But the moment couldn't be put off. She went quietly down the narrow stairs, but was unsurprised when, without even turning his head, Mac said, "Do you drink your coffee black?" He stood in front of the stove, spatula in hand.

  "No, I like the works." She accepted the proffered mug and made a production of stirring in sugar and powdered cream, looking over the kitchen. The shattered glass had been swept up and a piece of plywood covered the broken window. She could almost—but not quite—forget last night. "How's Zachary?"

  Mac took some eggs out of the fridge. "Limping. Maybe he should see the vet."

  Irrelevantly, she asked, "Where did you find the bacon?"

  "I jogged down to that little store."

  "Zachary'd like the grease on his breakfast."

  Mac flashed her a rueful grin that weakened her defenses. "I couldn't find his breakfast. He's annoyed at me."

  The big retriever flopped his tail from where he lay with his chin resting on his empty bowl.

  Her own mouth curved into a smile. "He does look hopeful. Believe it or not, his food's in the hall closet. I buy it in such big bags, that's the only place it would fit."

  Prying the bowl from under Zachary's chin, she filled it and Mac poured hot grease over the brown nuggets. When Megan plopped it back on the floor in front of the dog, he dove right in.

  Behind her, Mac asked, "Scrambled or over easy?"

  "Have you ever heard of cholesterol?"

  When she turned around, the smile was gone from his mouth. "Lately I haven't worried too much about turning sixty. The day I relax, I'll cut down on cholesterol."
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  Her gaze lowered involuntarily to the front of his black sweatshirt where it covered that long red scar. She knew his head must still ache, too. How could she argue?

  "Scrambled," she said.

  They talked about total trivialities during breakfast. What vet she took Zachary to. Who to call to replace the windowpane. Where she normally grocery-shopped.

  Megan wasn't really hungry, but she ate anyway. She didn't let herself meet Mac's gaze until she pushed her empty plate away.

  Then she said flatly, "Are you going to call the police?"

  "I don't know." For the first time Megan noticed the signs of weariness on his face. The grooves in his cheeks were carved more deeply, and the fan of lines beside his eyes showed his age in a way they hadn't before. "That depends on you."

  "I'll move home with my parents," she said. "They've already offered me my old bedroom."

  She didn't like the idea, but she knew after last night that she wouldn't feel safe alone. And what was the alternative? Letting Mac stay to protect her? He scared her more than the phantom enemy did. He was still a stranger and always would be, because his outlook was so different from hers. How could she, who so valued home and a town where she knew everyone, be attracted to a man who could walk away anytime? She couldn't decide whether he was so sure of himself, he didn't need others to define him, or whether he was soulless, a stranger even to himself. But the answer didn't matter. The problem did. She was desperately attracted to a man without roots, one who would not understand her need for her own.

  But he was shaking his head. "That's not good enough. Damn it, Megan. Look how fast they hunted you down. They must have discovered they'd failed almost immediately."

  "The newspaper article..."

  "Can't have hit the big papers yet. Face it. They must have hung around, waited just to be sure. They're professionals. Either that..." he leaned forward as if to emphasize his point, "or else they're locals. People who already knew you. Either way," he shook his head, "failing once won't stop them."

  In agitation Megan set down her coffee cup. "It's you they want, not me. Maybe they knew you were here last night. Did you ever think of that?"

  "Of course I thought of that!" he snapped. "But I called my partner this morning and he tells me word on the street is that Saldivar is still looking for me. He's mad as hell. There should be some hint that he found me. I can't believe it's him. And that leaves an open field."

  "I'll be safe with my parents," Megan said stubbornly. "I promise I'll be careful not to be by myself. You can forget about me. Just...just do whatever you have to."

  Maddeningly, he shook his head again. "Somebody who would murder you in cold blood isn't going to stop at adding other victims. You'd be endangering them. Do you want to take that kind of chance?"

  Megan stood up abruptly and pushed her chair aside. "This is crazy! Why am I listening to you?"

  "Because somebody broke into your house last night. You're smart enough not to buy that kind of coincidence."

  Her fingers closed painfully on the back of the chair. "We have burglars just like anyplace else, you know. Maybe the police could find fingerprints or something if you'd let me call them. Or are you afraid they'll punch holes in your story?" she challenged.

  Really smart, Megan, she thought. If the guy's a pathological liar, did she want to back him into a corner?

  His eyes narrowed and a muscle spasmed in his jaw, but no other reaction showed. "All right," he said at last. "If that's what it'll take to make you take this seriously, we'll call them."

  "Good," she said boldly. "Do you want me to do it?"

  His tone was dry. "Why not? You probably know everyone on the force."

  She dialed quickly, her back to Mac but conscious of his gaze on her. She asked for Pete Tevis. When he came on the line, Megan told him about the attempted break-in.

  He didn't waste any time on sympathy. "I'll be right over."

  Mac stood up. "Do you mind if I take a quick shower?"

  "No, of course not. There's shampoo and everything. Help yourself."

  To keep herself busy, Megan cleared the table and washed the dishes. All the while she pictured the man upstairs in her shower. Naked, water sluicing down his lean body. His wet hair darker, plastered to his head. When the shower stopped, she imagined him stepping out, scrubbing his hair with the towel, wrapping it around his waist. Drops of water beaded on his tanned skin, muscles rippling as he moved.

  "Don't be an idiot," Megan said aloud, hooking the damp dish towel over the refrigerator-door handle. As her father had commented once about a boy she had a crush on, "He puts his pants on one leg at a time." At the time she had daringly retorted, "Yeah, but once they're on he looks better in them than anybody else does." Mac did, too. What other man was sexy in a pair of sacky sweats?

  Mac timed it perfectly, coming down the stairs just as Pete Tevis knocked on Megan's front door. At the sight of Mac, something tightened in her stomach. Damn it, it just wasn't fair! No one man should have cheekbones like that and shoulders wide enough to shelter a woman and cool gray eyes that could see right through her. She had a lump in her throat when she opened the door.

  Pete's gaze immediately went past her to the man who'd obviously just showered and was coming from the cottage's only bedroom. It hadn't occurred to Megan how that might look.

  "Megan," The deputy sheriff nodded. "Mr. McKenzie."

  Oh, boy. She'd forgotten the name thing. Would Mac expect her to lie for him? How much did he intend to tell Pete?

  His expression was impassive, but he pulled his badge out of his back pocket and flipped it open. "Actually, it's McClain. James McClain."

  "You don't say." Pete Tevis took the badge, sounding no more surprised than Megan had been when she found out Ross McKenzie wasn't really his name. Wouldn't you think the man could lie better than that? she thought.

  "I'm going to have to ask you to keep what I tell you to yourself."

  "Well, now." Pete handed back the badge after a careful scrutiny. "I can't promise that. Not until I know what you have to say."

  The two men's gazes clashed for a long moment before Mac nodded reluctantly. "I'd do the same."

  They studied the kitchen, then went outside to look for footprints and tire prints and whatever else policemen expected to see. At last they ended up sitting at the kitchen table, Megan listening as Mac told his story to the graying deputy.

  Only when he got to her part in it did she contribute. "This guy used an old piece of two-by-four to break the window. Of course that set Zachary off. Surely some hit man would cut the glass or jimmy the lock or something."

  "She's got a point," Pete said.

  "Come on," Mac said impatiently. "They want it to look like a burglary that went wrong."

  Pete shook his head. "Could be. But I've got to tell you, we've had a rash of burglaries at beachfront places. Six or seven in the last month. This could be no more than another one."

  "How did they get in?"

  "Pretty much the same. Broke a window. Only difference is, nobody was at home when the other places were picked clean."

  "This guy had to know someone was here," Mac said. "There was a car out front, a big dog in here carrying on. This SOB broke the window after Zachary started barking, not before. Damn it, no burglar would do that."

  Pete nodded at Megan. "Mind if I have a refill of that coffee?" When she took his cup he admitted, "That's pretty unusual. Kids, though, they get drugged up, they're not always smart. You must've scared the hell out of him."

  "I'm not so sure," Mac said thoughtfully. "That was the interesting part. A kid should have been yelling at me not to shoot. This guy clobbered me with the two-by-four and took off. Car started so fast, I think he had somebody waiting for him, too. If I could have seen the license..."

  "Yeah, we'd have had something to work on," Pete agreed. "As it is, I'll send one of the boys out to dust for fingerprints, just in case. I'm betting we don't find any."

  Mac
nodded. Pete continued. "Now, as to your problem, I'll tell you what. I'll keep what you told me to myself, so long as this business doesn't go any further. If Megan's attacked, or you are again, that promise is off."

  Mac nodded. "I can't ask any more than that. Now will you try to talk this stubborn woman into doing something smart? If she would just go visit some friends for a while..."

  Megan didn't give Pete a chance. "I will not run away. So don't waste your breath. I'll move home with my parents for a week or so, but that's my best offer."

  Mac's mouth hardened. "Damn it, Megan..."

  "No." She gestured passionately. "Even Pete's not sure this wasn't a garden-variety burglar! You're making some big assumptions. I just can't accept them. I mean, the whole thing is nuts! I'm committed at the beach for the summer. What are they supposed to do if I don't show up? School starts for me in less than four weeks. I need to start preparing my room—"

  "Four weeks might be long enough," Mac interrupted.

  "No." She stared mulishly at him.

  He glowered back. "Tevis, help me out here."

  "It might not be a bad idea," Pete said. "A little vacation couldn't hurt."

  "No."

  Mac growled something under his breath and turned his intensity toward Pete. "Can you give us some practical help? Keep an eye on Megan?"

  The deputy let out a long breath and shook his head at the same time. "I've been thinking about it, but I don't see how I can. We can drive by the beach a little more often, maybe by here, too, but I just don't see how I can come up with anything else. We're stretched too thin. Do you know how big this county is, how many miles of roads there are? As it is, our response time is embarrassing. I try to explain this story to the boss, it's going to sound like the bogeyman to him."

  Megan could see that Mac hadn't expected any other answer. His frustration was obvious in the grim look he gave her.

  "Then you're stuck with me day and night," he said. "Don't even try to argue."

  She wanted desperately to do just that. How could she bear to share her small house with him for days, weeks, a month? Was she being stubborn for no good reason?