Scout's Honor (12 page)

She couldn’t say anything. She just kept
looking at him with wide, shocked eyes.

“Come here, Anna,” he whispered. He pulled
her into his arms, wrapping her in his strength and rocking her
gently. “It’s okay to cry.” He leaned his head back to see her
face. “It’s been a hell of a night.”

Anna had no intention of crying, yet she
could feel salty tears running down her cheeks. Mitch held her more
tightly and caught the moistness with the fingers of one hand. The
tender feel of his callused hand was her undoing. She cried in his
arms. She buried her face in his worn-out tuxedo, clenching his
shirt and holding on for dear life.

He crooned sweet nothings in her ear,
talking her out of being afraid, whispering nonsense until she was
giggling more than she was crying. The jokes weren’t that funny. It
was his delivery and the tickle of his mouth next to her ear—and
the sheer relief of being safe in his arms—that reduced her to
laughter. She snuggled closer.

“I hate to break up the party,” Nick said,
leaning on the table, “especially when you two are having such a
good time. But some decisions have to be made, and I could use a
little help.”

Mitch pulled a handkerchief out of his
pocket and handed it to her, then gave her a quick kiss on the tip
of her nose. “Feeling better?”

She nodded, dabbing her cheeks.
“Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” His hands did a slow sweep
around her waist, his eyes full of mischief. “Helping damsels in
distress could get to be one of the things I’m best at.”

“Would that be before your second-best
thing, or after your third-best?” She cocked her head to give him a
wry look as she stuffed his hankie back in his pocket. “Or could it
go right to the top of your list, surpassing even your mysterious
best thing?”

He shrugged, a smile creasing his face.
“Depends on the damsel. And Anna . . .” His voice lowered, and his
eyes darkened to a rich brown. “There’s nothing mysterious about
what I do best. It comes straight from the heart—and I think you’re
pretty good at it too.”

His words resonated through her, reaching
deep inside her, all the way to the secrets hidden in her own
heart. She turned away from his all-seeing gaze, once again afraid
of carrying the burden of his dreams.

“Okay, Nick,” she said. “Let’s take care of
this mess. How’s Dumonde?” Her voice shook, but the tears had
stopped.

“He’ll live. He’ll have a hell of a headache
in the morning, but he’ll live.” Nick picked up the deeds and
handed them to Mitch. “I think these belong to you.”

Mitch tucked them inside his vest. “Thanks.
I appreciate what you two did, and I’m sorry things got out of
hand. If you ever need anything, call me.”

This time a jolt of real panic went through
Anna, and her gaze snapped back to Mitch. Was he simply going to
take his ranch and walk away? Out of her life? Just like that?

Suddenly she knew she didn’t want it to
happen this way. She refused to analyze why, but Mitch Summers
couldn’t disappear into memories. Not yet. She also didn’t know
what she was going to do to change it.

Nick started arranging the cash, leaving the
players’ winnings in front of their respective chairs. “I think we
should leave everyone with what they had on the table. Except for
Carlton. His money can go to Dumonde for personal injury. He didn’t
have that much left anyway. How much did you win on the juice?”

“I tried not to use it except on the last
hand,” Anna said, helping him stack the money, “but to be fair I
probably picked up an extra twenty thousand without trying.” Her
mind was on a more serious problem than what to do with a few
thousand dollars, though. What was she going to do about Mitch
Summers?

“We’ll keep the twenty,” Nick said. “For
damages from the creep and for Dumonde for inviting him. What do
you want to do with this?” He picked up the hundred grand or so in
the last pot and let out a low whistle as he hefted the bulky cash
in his hand.

Anna thought for a minute, discarding a
number of possibilities before coming up with one she felt was
fair. “Pay off the dealer and hostess. Reimburse Mitch for his
traveling expenses. Make up your losses and give Jason a bonus.
We’ll donate the rest anonymously to charity.” She met everyone’s
eyes. “Do we all agree?”

Nick looked at her as if she were crazy. So
did Frank. “Maybe we should sleep on it,” Nick said, voicing his
skepticism.

“Nick,” Anna drawled with a note of
warning.

He met her gaze, lifting his brows
questioningly. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay, Anna. It’s your show.” Reluctance
dripped from every word.

She glanced at Mitch waiting for his
comment. “It’s your show, boss,” he said.

She hadn’t expected anything less.

They divided the money, and Nick delegated
Jason to return Dumonde and his guests to shore in Dumonde’s boat.
He tossed Mitch the keys to his own boat and car. “Give these to
Jason when you get to the marina. He’ll come back in our boat and
you can keep the car tonight.” He handed Jason the derringer. “Keep
this until they’re off the boat. Then toss it overboard.”

Finally, he turned to Lara.”I’ll understand
if you want to go home”—he smiled a rogue’s smile, his deep blue
eyes twinkling with promise—“but you’re welcome to stay.”

If anyone had offered odds, Anna would have
bet her night’s take on Nick. She had to be the only woman in the
world who had ever said no to that smile. Lara didn’t let her
down.

The rest of them said their good nights and
climbed into the speedboat. Frank’s silence in the back of the boat
attested to his nervousness. Anna was still badly shaken herself,
and she concentrated on watching Mitch turn the boat in a tight arc
toward the shoreline. She took some comfort from his presence even
at a distance.

At Frank’s request, they dropped him off at
one of the casinos. Anna understood his needs; she didn’t want to
spend the rest of the night alone either. The reality of a crowd
would help dispel the frightening scenes on the yacht. But she
didn’t want a whole crowd. One person would do. She glanced across
the dark interior of the Mercedes at Mitch, and confusion filled
her. What did she want from Mitch Summers? Not a one-night stand.
Probably not a love affair. Boy scouts didn’t have casual love
affairs. Then, what? She didn’t know. She needed time to figure it
out, and she wasn’t sure how much time she had.

They turned onto the quiet street where St.
John’s house was and Mitch eased down the circular, palm-sheltered
drive. Time was running out. Anna fiddled with her sequined purse,
trying to put her thoughts in order fast, not taking her eyes off
Mitch.

Without a word he put the car in park,
turned off the ignition, and set the brake. He gripped the wheel in
both hands and stretched his arms, staring out the windshield
before cocking his head to meet her eyes.

She searched his face through the darkness,
trying to find the right words, a clue as to what she should say.
Nothing came to her, and as the minutes passed she felt hope die.
Then Mitch shrugged, expelled a heavy sigh, and got out of the
car.

Anna fought the instinct to cover her face
with her hands. Instead she watched in the side mirror as his lanky
body in the rumpled tux crossed behind the car. He swung her door
open, then reached in to take her hand and help her out.

Silently he walked her up the low stairs
leading to the front door. With every step his fingers entwined
more tightly with her own. No other part of their bodies was
touching. When they got to the porch he released her hand and
shoved his fists in his pockets, watching as she fumbled for her
key.

She felt worse with each passing second.
This was good-bye. The scout had what he’d come for, and she was
determined not to make a scene. She took a deep breath, trying to
get the key in the lock. As soon as it turned she would raise her
head and flash him a winning smile, wish him luck . . . and say
good-bye. The tumblers rolled, and in the silence they sounded like
thunder to her.

Before she could push the door open, Mitch’s
hand descended on hers, holding the door closed, keeping them in
darkness. Her heart started pounding, too loud for discretion. All
her senses were focused on the warmth of the hand holding hers.

His uneasiness was contagious, telegraphing
itself to her through the stiffness of his body and the way he
avoided her eyes. He rubbed his thumb across her palm and spoke
hesitantly. “I’d like to stay with you tonight, Anna. Nothing else.
Just stay with you so you’re not alone.”

She let out a heavy sigh and closed her
eyes. “I’d like that,” she whispered.

The sound of the phone ringing broke the
awkward moment. Mitch pushed the door open and stepped aside so she
could answer the call.

In a few steps she reached the phone in the
kitchen, lifting it to her ear as she flipped the light switch.
“Hello,” she said, unclipping the sapphire earring. “Yes . . . yes,
St. John.”

Mitch followed her into the kitchen and she
pointed to the wine rack, smiling. She was back in control. Mitch
was still here. He pulled out a bottle and held it up for her
inspection.

“No . . . I mean yes, St. John.” She shook
her head at Mitch, waving him to another bottle. He drew out a
Cabernet Sauvignon, and she nodded. That bad?” she said into the
phone. Her face became serious. “Don’t yell at me. I can’t believe
it either.

“Damn Dumonde. He should have known better.
Yes, it fits. Tonight was a disaster, but I didn’t expect anything
like this.” She paced the floor as she talked, ignoring Mitch and
the glass of wine he offered.

“Isn’t that overreacting a bit, St. John? .
. . You can’t be serious,” she muttered, turning her back to the
room. She listened for a minute, then twisted her neck to look over
her shoulder at Mitch. Absently she extended her hand to take the
wine. The Cabernet was rich and dry, filling her mouth with its
soothing flavor. It was the first drink she’d had all night, and it
didn’t come a moment too soon.

“Yes,” she said to St. John. “He’ll stay
with me until you get home. . . . No, I won’t do that. We’ll talk
when you get here. Good-bye.”

She hung up the phone, her fingers clutching
the receiver as she took another swallow of wine. Then she looked
at Mitch. There were a thousand questions in his eyes, but he
waited for her to speak.

She thought about skirting the issue. What
St. John had told her could work against her in two ways: Mitch
could stay, out of a feeling of responsibility, or he could
hightail it off the island. She didn’t like either of those
options. Her gaze roamed over the lean golden face and the unruly
brown hair curling about his collar. No, she thought, discarding
artifice with a slight shrug. That face deserved the unvarnished
truth.

“We’re in trouble, scout.” She drained her
wine and walked over to him to refill the glass. “Carlton is a bona
fide bad guy, and he didn’t like the way you busted him up, or the
way I cleaned him out.” She tilted her head back and met his eyes.
“Where did you learn to fight dirty?”

He ignored her question. “How does St. John
know all this?”

“It’s a small island.” So he didn’t want to
tell her, she thought, refiling the question for later. At least
his broken nose didn’t seem quite as incongruous now.

“What does St. John want you to do?” he
asked.

“Go to our father’s house until Carlton
cools down.”

“Where’s that?”

“Miami . . . but I’m not going.”

Mitch gazed at her, waiting for an
explanation, and the longer he looked the more irritated she
became. She wasn’t going to tell him she wanted to stay as long as
he did, and she certainly wasn’t going to tell him about the family
feud. She didn’t quite understand the first reason to begin with,
and as for the second . . . She glanced at his face. Well, a man
who got along with a brother like Steve wouldn’t understand the
second reason.

She set her glass on the counter, deciding
to ignore his unasked question as neatly as he had hers. “I’m
going to change
out of this dress. Help yourself to a snack.” She started out of
the kitchen, then stopped at the café doors, her hand resting on
the louvered edge. She paused for a second before turning back
around, feeling slightly ridiculous, but she had to ask.

“Will you be here?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Anna,” he said
quietly, the warm reassurance in his eyes reaching across the
kitchen.

She nodded once and left the room.

The dress would have to go to the cleaners,
she thought as she stripped it off. The cold sweat of fear had
dried on the expensive silk and left a clammy film on her skin. She
stepped into the shower and let the hot water beat against her, but
only for a minute. She soaped her face and held it under the spray,
letting the water run into her mouth and hair.

After toweling herself off, she padded into
her bedroom and pulled fresh clothes out of the closet—an overlarge
pale aqua shirt and matching light cotton pants
.

A glass of wine, a quick shower, clean
clothes, and she still
felt nervous. St. John’s
revelations couldn’t be so easily dismissed. Carlton was after her
, after Mitch, and bent on revenge. She felt a
moment’s pity for Dumonde. He’d looked old and beaten lying on the
floor, as if all his sins had finally caught up with him. She knew
he was safe from Carlton. A con man always had a thousand places to
hide until the heat was off.

The kitchen was dark when she left her room,
but an art nouveau floor lamp in the living room was on. It shot a
star pattern of illumination on the ceiling and dropped a more
subdued circle of light over the couch.

Mitch was sitting in the middle of the
couch, leaning over the table to pour another glass of wine. He
glanced up as she walked into the room. The bottle hung from his
hand as his gaze traveled from her bare feet to the damp hair
curling around her face. He set the wine down and slowly rose to
his feet.