Lancelot of the Pines (Louisiana Knights Book 1) (5 page)

She turned back with a frown. “Are you sure—”

“I’m sure.”

He should know. And she wasn’t about to second guess him. “What about Mrs. Chauvin? Will she be okay?”

“Not home. A friend picked her up half an hour ago for some women’s meeting at the church.”

“Good. That’s—good.”

A shiver caught Mandy by surprise, and she wrapped her arms around her upper body, hugging tight. She was shaking, chilled to the marrow of her bones in spite of the heat of the old car.

They had found her. She should have known they would.

“It’s okay, I think,” the deputy said, turning his head to look at her, grim reassurance in the dark brown depths of his eyes. “My guess is the shooter didn’t want to cause too much of a ruckus. If he could do the deed nice and quiet, fine. If not—”

She didn’t want to think about it. “Or he could have been uncertain whether you were armed.”

“That, too. I don’t suppose you got a look at him?”

“I didn’t—I never knew he was there.”

“Would you have recognized him if you had?”

She gave him a quick glance before turning back to stare through the windshield. His nice moment of concern was apparently over, and he was back to the business of being a cop. “If you think I know who’s after me, the answer is I don’t.”

“But it’s happened before.”

“As you say.”

“What went down?”

“You don’t know?”

His glance was stringent. “I know what’s in the file, which isn’t a lot. I’d like to hear it from you.”

“There isn’t much to tell,” she said, rubbing her arms with her palms.

“Blanket in the back if you want it.” He took a turn on two squealing tires then glanced up at the rearview mirror before turning his gaze forward again.

It was actually a crocheted throw, probably made by Granny Chauvin herself. Mandy grabbed it and dropped back down in the seat, wrapping the softness around her with trembling gratitude in spite of its smells of lavender, mothballs and cat. It wasn’t the warmth alone that she needed. She felt entirely too naked, crouched there in her bikini. She was also too aware of the man beside her, of the way he kept his gaze above the neck when he looked her way. That studied avoidance was a dead giveaway. He’d not only got an eyeful, but had been plastered against her every curve and hollow and put his hands on places that made her face burn to remember.

“You were kidnapped a few days ago,” he said as a quiet reminder.

She gave a jerky nod. “I was at the mall. It was late, but I’d locked the car and parked under a streetlight. It made no difference. When I opened the door, a man came up behind me. He put a gun to—” She stopped, caught in the stunned horror of that moment once more.

“You were told to get in and drive, I imagine. Where to?”

She was almost grateful for the hard, official tone of his voice. It steadied her, somehow. “No particular destination. He—he got in the back seat and gave me directions for when and where to turn.”

“And then?”

“I’d heard—I guess we all have—of women being forced to drive to some dark, deserted spot before being raped and killed. I wasn’t going there. I’d also read that a car can become a weapon. I saw a hospital emergency room ahead and just—just floored the accelerator and pretended to be hysterical, so strung out I couldn’t help myself.”

“Good for you.”

The approval in his voice was like balm on an open wound. She paused for a moment of amazement before continuing. “I had fastened my seat belt. He didn’t have one, I knew, since he was leaning against the back of my seat. I crashed into a stone pillar at the ER entrance.”

The deputy inclined his head without looking at her. “You walked away, but he didn’t.”

“Hobbled, is more like it. The bruises from the seat belt and where I hit the side door are beginning to fade, but—”

“I noticed.”

He didn’t miss much, she thought with acid irony. Not that she’d made any effort to hide the marks. “Anyway, the guy died from his injuries. He turned out to be no more than a petty crook.”

“You’d never seen him before.”

“I don’t think so, but it was hard to tell.” She squeezed her eyes shut a brief moment. “His face—he went through the windshield.”

The deputy absorbed that for a moment. “Never made a statement, I guess.”

“If he did, no one told me.”

“And this was the same night your husband disappeared?”

“I guess. It was before I really knew Bruce wasn’t—that he wasn’t coming home.”

They were silent as small businesses flashed past and traffic picked up. The tires rumbled over old-fashioned brick streets. The courthouse with its classic dome loomed alongside them, across from the river landing. They flashed by a handful of other businesses, fast running out of town.

“Where are we going?” Mandy asked at last.

“To see someone who will help with no questions asked.”

“Help me or help you?” The words had a cynical twist to them as her equilibrium began to return. That it was happening so quickly was due to the man beside her, she knew. That didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Both,” he said as he wheeled down a side street and then into what appeared to be the back parking lot of a coffee shop. “Looks like we’re in this together.”

She didn’t think so, but was in no position to dispute it. She dared not go back to the so-called safe house for a while, maybe not ever. Meanwhile, she had nowhere else to go and nothing to wear. She was dependent on Lance Benedict.

For the briefest of instants, she wondered if he’d planned it that way. But no, that would be too Machiavellian. Besides, he had risked his life to snatch her out of the line of fire. What more proof did she need that he was one of the good guys?

She was grateful, of course. The problem was, she didn’t want or need to be protected like some helpless female in an old-fashioned romance; resented having all decisions for her welfare taken out of her hands. She’d been looking out for herself the best way she knew how for years.

All right, this was different. How she’d become involved in such a deadly game, she didn’t know. Could be she was in over her head. Until she could figure everything out and what to do about it, it seemed best to allow Deputy Lance Benedict to act as her protector. He owed her, anyway; if he hadn’t drawn attention to her by parking his official patrol vehicle in her drive, she might not be in this current fix.

And if the idea of sticking to him for a while was a great deal less annoying than it might have been a mere twenty-four hours ago, that was the way things went sometimes.

The girl who answered Lance’s staccato knock at the coffee shop’s back door reminded Mandy of someone she’d known some years back; she had that same independent style and defensive, damn-your-eyes attitude used to cover a too-soft heart. She took one look at them and swung the door wide, ushering them into a rear storage area where metal shelving was stacked with jars, boxes and bags. When they were inside, she closed it smartly behind them.

“There some desperate reason you two are coming in the back way, Lancelot, or are you avoiding the sheriff? Oh, wait, that’s desperate enough.”

“Lancelot?” Mandy sent him a quick glance, but he didn’t return it.

“The sheriff’s here?”

“In the flesh. Two doughnuts down and two to go.”

“Trey?”

“Deep into it with some guy about a dirt bike race coming up.” The girl met his gaze, her own searching, before she gave a quick nod. “I’ll get him for you.”

“Don’t mention—”

“No, I won’t.”

“You’re a pearl among women,” he said with relief in his voice.

“I’d prefer to be a diamond, actually.” As she turned her back, it was easy to see her tattoo, a shoulder-to-shoulder design done in sepia ink, though broken up by her tank top. It appeared to be a dandelion with its seed puffs dancing in artistic swirls, and lettering that read, “The answer is blowin’ in the wind.”

Lance turned to Mandy then. “Sorry I didn’t introduce you. That was Zeni. She manages the place.”

“And Trey?”

“Cousin and owner.”

It wasn’t much to go on, but she got the picture. “He’s the person who can help, right? So what’s he supposed to do?”

Lance didn’t answer, but then he had no opportunity. A man shoved through the door, letting in the buzz of voices, smells of coffee and fries, and a glimpse of a short hallway marked with restroom signs. “What’s going on?” he demanded, exasperation in his voice as he bore down on Lance. “Can’t you keep out of trouble at least one day?”

“Where’s your RV? In the garage out back?”

His cousin cocked a brow. “Why?”

“We need it.”

“You and who else?” Trey looked at Mandy without any great appreciation, taking in her bare feet below the folds of the crocheted throw. She met his gaze with her own appraisal since a lot was riding on him.

Easily as tall as Lance, he was whipcord tough, with black hair and gray eyes so dark they looked like pieces of storm sky. The resemblance between the two men was clear, though in a matter of confidence, power and the way they moved, as much as facial features.

“The lady and I.” Lance met his cousin’s eyes without so much as a blink.

“Can’t do it. I need the rig for a race coming up this weekend.”

Zeni pushed into the room behind her boss then, unceremoniously shoving him out of her way. “Don’t be so selfish, Trey. You ought to know Lance wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“It’s important to me, too. The RV is my baby, and practically brand new.”

“Didn’t you take it to a race last week?” Lance asked.

Zeni chimed in before Trey could open his mouth. “Yes, and who do you think won the thing? Your darling cousin gets off on risking life and limb for stupid little plastic trophies.”

“Why, Zeni, honey, I didn’t know you cared,” Trey drawled.

“How can you doubt it? You’re my paycheck, after all,” she shot back at him.

“And could be a lot more.”

“Not,” she said, “as long as you take a dirt bath every weekend, show up back here looking like something dug out of a tomb.”

“The RV?” Lance demanded. “That’s if you two can call a time out.”

“What’s an RV?” Mandy asked in the fraught silence.

“Recreational vehicle,” Zeni answered out the side of her mouth without taking her eyes from the two men. “In this case, a small motorhome Trey bought last month.”

Trey grunted. Shoving a hand into his jeans pocket, he brought out a set of keys attached to an electronic fob. “Hang tight here for two minutes,” he said, with a black glance at Zeni and resignation in his voice. “I’ll back the RV out and bring it to the back door here.”

The look he sent Mandy before he left them said she’d better be worth his sacrifice.

The RV was a Class C motor home, according to Trey, twenty-five feet long and powered by a diesel engine. It had a built-in generator, bathroom with shower, miniscule kitchen that boasted a refrigerator, microwave and two-burner range; a single slide-out that lengthened the rear bedroom, skylight centered between the eating area and the front seats, and a right-side entrance door in addition to the driver and passenger doors. He showed them its various amenities, gauges and safety features, giving a rapid rundown on exactly how they worked.

And he was still shouting operating instructions as Lance piloted the vehicle out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

Mandy, huddling in the passenger seat, felt exposed by the wide windshield and side windows. The glass seemed to have a slight tint to it, but it wasn’t nearly enough protection.

The heavy vehicle felt cumbersome and slow compared to a car, even if it wasn’t. She wanted to urge Lance to step on the gas, take them out of town as fast as they could go.

He sat across from her, still shirtless and wearing only cut-off blue jeans shorts. The sun through the windshield gave the dark hair on his chest gold highlights and threw the look of caution on his face into high relief. He was watching the road ahead, but she could see he was hyperaware of their surroundings, including what was behind them. He’d turned on the backup camera and checked its screen often, making sure no one crept up too close.

A woman in a car coming toward them flicked a glance their way, and then nearly ran off the road as she stared. Mandy frowned in puzzlement, but that was before she glanced down at herself, where she’d lowered the crocheted throw that was too hot in the sun-warmed vehicle, and then across at Lance.

Her confusion vanished. A chuckle sounded in her throat.

“You got over your shock fast,” he said, his expression truculent.

“Wasn’t I supposed to?”

“Few do.”

“I’d say that depends on how many shocks they’ve faced.” She made no attempt to keep her resentment out of her voice.

The look he gave her was searching, but he didn’t follow through. “So what’s so funny?”

“We are.” She gestured back and forth between them. “From where that woman sat, it must have looked as if we were both stark naked.”

He glanced at her, then away again, as the tops of his ears turned red. “Trey probably has extra shirts and pants on board. Take a look in the back, in the closet next to the bedroom door.”