Dangerous Waters (12 page)

Did he want to? No. But he'd held too many silent arguments with himself. Could it be Gary? But why? What was the motive? Frank? His kid needed plastic surgery for a cleft palate. Was the insurance going to pay for it? If not, what would he do for his own son?

Hell, it was getting to the point where Mac even wondered about Norm. He'd caught himself weighing every nuance in Norm's voice when they talked, listening for that edge, that hesitation, that might be revealing.

Weary, he said, "I've been trying to figure out what it would take to make each one of them turn on me. You know the scary part?"

She shook her head.

"I can think of a good reason for each of 'em. I could probably come up with a couple. We all have weaknesses."

Megan was frowning again. "Like?"

As much to himself as her, Mac said, "Bill Marshall likes money. Drives a Porsche, divorced his first wife and found himself a real looker. They live the high life, he dresses sharp. You know the kind. Inherited some money, the new wife is a model who doesn't do too badly, but they bought a house that must have cost millions. Makes you wonder."

"Do you...do you like him?"

Mac shrugged. "Yeah, he's okay. We go fishing together once in a while. I'd have said he's honest— But now, who the hell knows?"

"What about the other four?" Megan asked, that small crease still between her brows.

He told her about Frank, then Gary. "I know him the least well. He's the youngest, new to our office about a year ago. Good reputation. He's married, though, and has two little girls."

"That's a weakness?" Megan said incredulously.

"If it makes you subject to pressure?" Mac shook his head. "Damn right."

Those vivid blue eyes didn't leave his as she tilted her head back for the longest swallow of beer she'd had yet. "Is that everyone?"

"Miguel Ramosa. Married but no kids. Miguel's trouble is, he can't keep a grip on his temper. Hasn't gone anywhere in the Bureau because sooner or later he makes every supervisor mad."

"You're saying he might hold some kind of grudge?"

Mac slouched lower in his chair and yanked the pull tab off his can of beer. He thought better when he had something to fiddle with. "God knows. He and I have always gotten along pretty well. But maybe he just wants to foul up an investigation. Maybe he figures he deserves some bucks for putting up with the Bureau's crap all these years. Your guess is as good as mine."

"And the fifth one is Norm."

Mac grimaced, feeling a headache squeeze. The recurring headaches of the first few days had gradually diminished. This one probably had more to do with the burning in his belly than it did with the lump on his head.

He grunted. "Yeah. Norm. You know, I'd have said he was the unlikeliest, but by God, he knows the most about my movements. And he wants to retire early, figures he can't afford it. One little coup like this would do it."

Megan burst out, "It's horrible having to...to pick people apart like this! These are your friends! Like Norm. I've heard you talk to him. I know you trust him! There's no way he'd hand you over just so he could take early retirement. What if he knew you were thinking things like that?"

"Goddamn it!" Mac slapped the tabletop. "If Norm were the one sitting here, he'd be wondering about me!"

She shook her head hard. "I'm not so sure. There have got to be other ways you could have been found. Maybe your job has made it too easy for you to think the worst of people. Are you even considering how else it could have happened?"

Through gritted teeth, he said, "What do you think I've been doing all week?"

"Checking out local people. Which I guess made sense." The dubious way she said that grated. "But the FBI is a big government bureaucracy! Everything must be computerized. Somebody who knows what he's doing can break into any data base. And what about other people who work there, like secretaries and clerks and bookkeepers? Surely one of them would be a more likely leak."

Mac growled, "Do you think I'm stupid?"

She waved that off. "Of course not. But how do you get your paycheck, for example?"

"Automatic deposit." With exaggerated patience, he said, "No, I did not let the Social Security administration know my new name and address. I don't call my next-door neighbor twice a week to see how my house looks. I haven't called a single old friend. When I said only five people know where I am, I meant it."

"You mean, your friends don't know what happened to you?"

"Friends and family are the easiest way to find somebody on the run."

She threw up her hands. "But it just doesn't make sense!"

"It makes perfect sense." Willing his emotions to be icy, Mac met her eyes. "The truth just happens to be ugly."

"Having to sit around analyzing your friends for 'weaknesses' is ugly, you're right about that!"

He shoved his chair back. "You think it's my idea of a good time?"

Her chin came up. "Maybe not, but you're good at it!"

"It's my job!"

"To notice your friends' weaknesses?"

Anger was hot in his throat. "I'd be a fool to trust people indiscriminately. When the hell has anybody come through for me?"

The minute the words were out, he wished them unsaid. They had come from the buried child who had painfully learned not to trust others.

But her expression had already changed. He saw compassion, tenderness that twisted his gut, and pity. It was the pity that stung.

"I've trusted all five men before with my life," he said roughly. "But things have changed, in case you hadn't noticed. My life depends on my not making a mistake. I'd be a damned fool to assume decent people can't be bought."

"You're wrong," she said, shaking her head. "It's not true! People don't all have that kind of weakness. I would never betray a good friend. Never. And I don't believe you would."

"You don't know me well enough to say that." He went to the refrigerator for another beer. Alcohol was one form of escape he usually avoided, but tonight it was the only one he could afford. What he wanted was to sweep Megan into his arms and carry her up those narrow stairs to the pristine bed at the top. He wanted to kiss her until she couldn't talk back, see the blue of her eyes deepen with desire. He wanted to bury himself in her, forget for at least a few minutes that he'd endangered her and that when this was all over he'd be walking away again.

"That's not true!" Her answer held the kind of passion that made him sure she'd respond as generously with her body. She did nothing halfheartedly— except maybe fight her attraction to him. Fight it she did, but he knew she felt it. Her face was too expressive to hide powerful emotions.

"Okay." Beer can in hand, unopened, he bumped the refrigerator door shut with his hip. "What's my greatest weakness?"

"That's easy," Megan said without hesitating. "You can't totally trust anybody."

"In my world, that's a strength."

She changed direction, startling him. "Have you ever been married?"

Mac cracked open the can and took a cold swallow. "No."

"Why?"

"Because . . ." He stopped. He'd never considered marriage, even when he was seriously involved with a woman. Why? Hell, maybe Megan was right. It didn't take a psychologist to guess that he was afraid of a replay of his mother's desertion. "Maybe being smart enough not to get married is a strength, too."

Megan smiled, her mouth curving so softly he felt a hungry kick of desire. "You're a cynic. Someday, somebody will cure you of it."

"If you're not careful," he said, deadly serious, "someday, somebody will cure you of being so trusting. The lesson will be a bitter one."

"Do you trust me?" she asked suddenly. "Or do you think I'd sell you out if this, this Saldivar called?"

Yeah, if he'd ever trusted anybody in his life, it was Megan Lovell. America's sweetheart. What an irony. The funny part was, he'd trusted her even out in the lake, the scene of his worst nightmare. Her eyes had mesmerized him, her voice had been eerily calm. He had lain there like a child, giving up the iron control that had kept him whole inside all these years.

The answer to her question shocked him cold. Maybe it shocked him most because it had come without hesitation.

"No." He had to clear his throat. "I don't think you'd sell me out."

"A miracle." Her voice was light, but in her eyes he saw a greater truth, a shift of emotion that affected him as profoundly as it had her.

"Don't look at me like that," he half growled.

"Like...like what?"

"You're asking for something you don't want."

Megan didn't pretend not to understand. "This..." her gesture took in the cramped kitchen, the dinner leavings on the table, the intimacy, "this isn't easy."

Her veiled admission made it damned hard not to take that one step to her side. It was all he could do to remember that his job was to get them out of this mess, not deeper in it.

Deliberately crude, he said, "So you've got the hots for me just because I'm here, huh?"

Her eyes flared. "Hey, you're the one who kissed me, not the other way around!"

"Fine!" he snapped. "I'll do it again, and then we can agree on how much fun it is to live together." Logical that was not, but he was past caring. He'd never pressured a woman sexually before, but there was a first for everything. His gut told him that if Megan didn't disappear soon, a hit would be made on her. And what were the odds he could prevent it?

So he took that step nearer to her, although she had shrunk back against the table.

"Don't..."

He wrapped one big hand around the back of her slender neck and with the other tilted her chin up. "Then stop me," he said huskily.

They stared at each other for a long, charged instant. Reflected on her face was her inner war—one she lost. He saw the defeat in her eyes a second before she made a small sound of longing in the back of her throat.

She couldn't have done anything more calculated to make him lose sight of his purpose here. With an answering groan, Mac covered her mouth with his.

The kiss was frenzied, out of control. He gripped her hair while his other hand yanked her up against him. He ached with need that she answered willingly. With his teeth he discovered the softness of her full lower lip, with his tongue the slippery heat of her mouth. He did his damndest to devour her, to claim her so thoroughly she would never forget his brand on her. When they breathed at all, it was harshly, while her head fell back and he bit the tender skin of her neck. She whimpered then, and ran her splayed hands over his chest. He was on fire, the flames roaring in his ears, but when he lifted his head to capture her mouth again, he saw her tears.

Her eyes were closed, but a drop shimmered on her dark lashes. His muscles seemed to lock and an eternity passed while he stared down at her. God, he wanted her...but not like this. Not under pressure.

She opened her eyes then, and the blue was as bottomless as the lake that had almost claimed him. "Mac?" she whispered.

Sickened at himself, he lowered his hands to his sides and stepped back. "We can't go on like this," he said in defeat.

She didn't move, though her eyes closed again, and she seemed to pale.

"Goddamn it, Megan! Talk to me."

"All right," she whispered. Her lashes lifted and her gaze met his, though he could no longer read her thoughts. Her eyes were...blind, he thought, as though she didn't see him.

"All right what?"

"You win. I'll go."

So it had worked, using her own sexuality to frighten her. Why didn't he feel triumphant?

"It won't be for long," he said. No, vowed. "I promise I'll get the bastard. Then we can both go back to our lives the way they used to be."

"Sure," she said flatly. "Now, I think I'll go to bed, if you don't mind."

He wanted to step aside, but didn't. "You'll leave tomorrow?"

"After work." Her mouth compressed. "I'll have to make...arrangements. Somebody will have to take over at the beach, and...and I'll need to tell my parents." She gestured vaguely. "And pack."

"Okay." He did move out of her path then. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes fleetingly met his, and he felt as though somebody had punched him. She didn't bother even commenting, just swept past him.

CHAPTER 7

The county parks department accepted the loss of Megan without too much fuss. An old friend was having a difficult pregnancy and was desperate for help this last month, Megan told them, suppressing feelings of guilt. What choice did she have but to lie?

The next day—her last—she stayed late to tidy the records and to leave notes in the personnel files on each of the lifeguards. Departing, she discovered as she looked around the empty boathouse, was easy. Too easy. Which went to show how much she was needed.

Mac was waiting at the car. He'd hovered close all day, though she wasn't sure whether he was reinforcing last night's lesson or worried about her safety. Well, after tomorrow he could quit worrying, she thought morosely as she crossed the parking lot. She would be twiddling her thumbs in a hotel somewhere, while he chased down killers.

She'd considered a long visit to an old friend from college, who she knew would have welcomed her, but remembered what Mac had told her. The easiest way to trace someone on the run was through family and friends. She couldn't take the chance. If he was right, if someone really did want her dead, she would only be endangering Anne. Boredom beat that.

Without comment Mac let her throw her duffle bag in on the backseat and climb behind the wheel. She shot him a glance. "Gee, are you sure it's safe for me to drive tonight?"

"Do I detect some sarcasm?" He slouched low in the seat.

"I wouldn't dream of it." Looking at him had been a mistake. Her throat tightened and she concentrated on starting the car and steering out of the lot. They drove in silence. Megan couldn't think of anything to say. Tomorrow morning would be goodbye. At most, someday she'd hear his voice on the telephone letting her know she could go home again.

Only, she had a feeling that home would never be the same refuge. Her cottage, the lake in all its moods, the town itself and neighbors she'd known since childhood, would no longer represent safety and contentment. Mac had breached both.