The Great Escape (24 page)

Mike surprised her by laughing. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you need me, so you’d better start acting like a friend. I’m picking you and Toby up on Sunday for church. Nine-thirty.”

“Church?”

“It’s the best place for you to get reacquainted with the locals. But there are some ground rules. Don’t disrespect me in public.” The steadiness in his fool’s eyes alarmed her. “Don’t make fun of anybody in the congregation, not even if some of them start talking in tongues. And if Ned Blakely shows up with his snake and starts quoting from the Bible, you’ll be polite. Church here isn’t what you’re used to in Bloomfield Hills, but this is Charity Island, and people worship with their whole hearts.”

Tongues?
Snakes?

Mike smiled, not one of those unpleasant smirks she remembered, but a big smile. At her expense. “I’ve got to get this truck back to Hank Jenkins. I’ll see you on Sunday. Oh, and if you decide not to go, I’ll pass the word that you want to be left completely alone.”

“I do,” she said fiercely.

“Are you sure about that?” He was still smiling, congenial. “Winters are long, and people here only have one another to depend on if they drive into a ditch or run out of heating oil. Or if their kid—a kid like Toby—gets sick and has to be taken off the island.” He rubbed his chin. “You should be careful what you wish for, Bree.”

Blackmail.
She wanted to throw something as he walked away, but she’d never been a thrower or a screamer. She’d never been much of anything except a mediocre student and Scott’s cheerleader.

After Mike left, she retrieved the wheelbarrow and the quilt she’d been using in her display. Only then did she see the present he’d left for her, the one he’d said would help her with her business. Not Skittles or Lemonheads. Mike Moody had stepped up to the major leagues. His current form of bribery was a new Mac notebook computer.

Chapter Thirteen

L
UCY WRAPPED A
T
EENAGE
M
UTANT
Ninja Turtle beach towel around her waist and stepped from the outdoor shower. She’d gone for a swim off the dock, but the lake water was still cold enough that she hadn’t stayed in long. As she latched the warped wooden door behind her, Panda came down the steps from the screened porch. His sweat-soaked T-shirt and damp hair indicated he’d just finished one of Temple’s workouts.

“I want my bedroom back,” he said, taking in her wet shoulders and the too-thin top of her cheap black swimsuit.

She pulled the towel under her armpits. “You’re guarding Temple. You need to be near her.”

“Temple sleeps like a log, and the food’s locked up.” He wandered closer, moving from shade into sunlight. “There are three empty bedrooms upstairs. Choose whichever one you like. Hell, you can sleep in all of them if you want.”

He had justice on his side, and she believed in fair play. But not about this. “It’s my room now, and I’m not giving it up.”

“Is that right?” He leaned closer, bringing with him the scent of clean sweat and male menace. “Evicting you won’t bother me one bit. Remember that I’m bigger than you, I’m stronger than you, and I have no principles.”

Not completely true but close enough. She didn’t like the nervous flutter in her stomach, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “You could do that … but then you’d have to explain it to Temple.”

He still looked sinister but also a bit … sulky? “There’s a brand-new mattress on that bed.”

“Now we get to the crux of the matter.” The mattress was heaven. Not too soft, not too hard, and it had a cushy new feather-top, which still took second place to the room’s private entrance and exit. “It seems to be the only furnishing in the house you haven’t neglected.”

His glare wasn’t entirely convincing. “If I have to give up my bedroom, I want something in return.” His eyes lingered on her exposed collarbone. “What are you offering?”

What, indeed? “Decorating advice.”

“Forget it.”

“Sparkly windows.”

“Like I care.”

She thought hard, and then …
Ka-ching.
“Bread.”

A few seconds ticked by. He eased away, cocked his head. “I’m listening.”

“If you can keep Temple down by the cove for an hour tomorrow afternoon, I’ll make sure there’s a loaf of fresh bread hiding behind the plants on the porch when you get back.”

He considered. “She’ll smell it the minute she walks in the house.”

“I’ll burn some candles. Bake with the windows open. Squirt a little air freshener. What do you care?”

“You think you can do it?”

“I know I can.”

“Deal. Fresh bread whenever I want it, and you keep the room.” He turned on his heel and headed down to the water.

Only after he’d disappeared did she begin to have second thoughts. No one knew better than she did how seriously Panda took his work. Would he really leave Temple alone on the second floor all night just for a great mattress? She couldn’t imagine it.

The more she thought about it, the more she became convinced that Panda’s threats had nothing to do with getting his bedroom back and everything to do with making her give up her bread. Apparently she wasn’t the only one suffering from a lack of food. She stomped into the house.

He’d set her up, and she’d fallen for it.

H
E SURFACED, THEN DIVED UNDER
again. When was he going to apologize for what he’d said to Lucy that night? As if he didn’t have enough other things haunting him, those words had turned into a verbal ear-worm he couldn’t shake off.
You weren’t that good anyway.
He needed to apologize, but he could already feel himself letting down his guard, and if he apologized, things might get cozy between them. He didn’t want that.
Be the best at what you’re good at.

He began swimming back toward the dock. He was hungry, damn it, and he hated being Temple’s keeper. That’s why he felt like he was off his game—losing focus, the old itch to get drunk clawing away at him. Lucy’s bread would set things right again. With something decent in his stomach, he’d be able to stay on top of this job that felt like it would never end. More important, he’d do a better job managing the girl with the fake dragon tattoo.

Hunger. That was his problem.

W
HETHER SHE
’
D BEEN SET UP
or not, Lucy still had baking to do. After she’d finished eating a free-range egg the next morning, along with a slice of omega-3 spelt and flax bread that tasted like beach sand, Panda let her into the pantry to fetch what she needed. “Don’t think I haven’t seen through your little ploy, Patrick,” she said as she came out.

“As usual, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He bypassed the beach sand bread for a package of tiny fat-free whole-grain tortillas, thought better of it, and set the tortillas aside for more coffee, which he carried upstairs.

While he and Temple were occupied with their morning workout in the new gym, Lucy mixed and kneaded. When the dough finally turned elastic under her hands, she set it in an oiled bowl, covered it with a clean dish towel, and hid it on the top cupboard shelf to rise.

She wanted to buy some plants in town for the porch, purchases that were too cumbersome for a backpack, so she sneaked upstairs into the bedroom Panda had chosen and swiped his keys. As she walked to his car, Temple came hurrying out. Her face was flushed from her workout, and sweat stains blotted her gray knit top. She wore no makeup, but with her almond eyes and strong bones, she didn’t need much. “Would you pick up a few things for me in town?” she said. “I forgot nail clippers, and I need some polish remover. And if the new
Women’s Health
is out, would you get that, too?”

“Sure.”

Temple handed over the moist twenty-dollar bill she’d curled in her palm. “I assume there’s some kind of bakery or coffeehouse?” Her hushed voice still managed to sound imperious.

“The Painted Frog.”

“Get a chocolate muffin for me.” A straightforward demand. “Or an iced brownie if they look good. Something sweet to keep me from feeling so deprived.” She was obnoxiously haughty, insufferably arrogant, and so very sad. “Deprivation is the enemy of serious weight loss.”

It wasn’t Lucy’s job to be chief of the diet police, so she tucked the bill in her pocket. She happened to agree about deprivation. Although she’d never been a slave to sweets herself, now that sugary treats were off limits, she couldn’t seem to think about much else.

Panda’s SUV still had a new-car smell. As she left the house, she found herself glancing at the glove box. She waved at Bree when she passed the farm stand, took another quick look at the glove box, and ordered herself not to snoop.

The Painted Frog’s pastries sat in the glass display case like fanciful hats. Four varieties of muffins with puffy, sugar-crusted tops; glistening lemon bars perched on white doilies; fancifully frosted cupcakes nestled in frilly papers. She chose a dense, but not overly large, chocolate muffin for Temple, then decided on a turtle brownie topped with toasted pecans and chewy caramel for herself. She’d never been much of a doughnut eater, but she suddenly had to have a Bavarian cream. At the last minute, she added half a dozen of the Painted Frog’s oversize chocolate chip cookies for Bree and Toby.

She finished the rest of her shopping, eating the brownie and doughnut between stops, then made a quick trip to Dogs ’N’ Malts for fries. Who knew how long it would be before she could sneak away to eat again?

Toby was overjoyed with the cookies, and Bree was embarrassingly touched. Lucy picked up her honey and drove toward the house. But before she got there, the car, as if it had a will of its own, pulled over to the side of the road.

She stared at the glove box. What would Ted do in this situation? Her perfect ex-fiancé never did anything even remotely sneaky, so she conjured up Meg instead and flipped open the latch.

She half expected to see a loaded gun or, at the very least, a box of condoms and an abandoned red thong. Instead she found an owner’s manual, a tire pressure gauge, and an Illinois vehicle registration made out to one Patrick Shade, resident of Cook County, with an address on Chicago’s Lake Shore Drive.

She carried her new plants to the porch and entered her bedroom through the sliding doors, then hid the sack with the Evil Queen’s muffin under her bathroom sink. Temple could figure out for herself how to get her contraband. After giving the bread a quick second knead, she shaped the loaves, set them in a pair of pans for a final rise, and tucked them back in the cupboard. Then she went down to the dock and took out the kayak. Panda wouldn’t let Temple on the water by herself, and a second kayak had been delivered.

When she got back, Temple and Panda were sitting at the monstrously oversize kitchen table eating a lunch that couldn’t have been all that much better than a colon cleanse. Their matching dinner plates held sparse portions from the frozen meal containers sitting on the counter. Panda pushed a morsel of dry salmon around with his fork. A lemon wedge floated in the glass of water Temple lifted to her lips. She dabbed the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin she’d unearthed from somewhere. “I think it’s important for food to look appealing,” she said.

“Nothing can look appealing when you’re eating it on Panda’s puke-green table,” Lucy retorted.

“The table stays,” he said.

“Your loss.” She went to her bedroom and returned with the sack of Temple’s legitimate purchases. Panda snatched it away before Temple could touch it. He rooted around inside and, after satisfying himself that it held only magazines and nail clippers—none of the banned substances hidden under Lucy’s sink—he handed it to his client.

The Evil Queen turned her imperious eyes on him. “Really, Panda … Don’t you think that’s a bit insulting to Lucy?”

“Could be. Don’t care.”

Lucy snorted.

Temple set the sack aside. “Honestly, why don’t the two of you just go to bed together and get it over with?”

Panda’s forkful of mushy broccoli stalled in midair. Lucy nearly choked. Panda recovered first. “You’re way off base.”

“Am I?” Temple propped her bent elbow on the table and tapped her chin with her fingers. “I’ve made a successful career out of reading people, and the chemistry between you two is hot enough to be embarrassing.”

“Your imagination,” Panda said. “What you’re picking up is hostility. Two different people with two different outlooks. One of us is a hardheaded realist. The other isn’t.”

That was such crap that Lucy couldn’t stand it. “We had sex, Temple. It wasn’t that good.”

“I knew it!” Temple chortled in triumph. “He’s one of those selfish lovers, isn’t it? Only out for his own pleasure.”

“I am not!”

“Totally selfish,” Lucy said. “Over in a flash. Once was definitely enough.”

Panda’s plate rattled as he dropped his fork.

Temple ignored him. “I’m surprised. He has amazing stamina during our workouts. Maybe …”

“That’s enough.” He shot up from the table. “More than enough. End of discussion.”

As he stalked toward the back door, Lucy took the seat he’d vacated. “I’m not sure workout effort translates into the bedroom.”