Dangerous Waters (3 page)

When the telephone rang at nearly eleven o'clock, she snatched it up before the second ring. "Hello?"

It was Pam. "I knew I'd catch you up. Listen, how're your feet?"

"Okay," Megan said impatiently. "How is he?"

"Conscious but fuzzy. I'm not sure he remembers what happened."

Was that why he'd asked if she had seen the men? Because he didn't remember them? But Megan didn't quite believe that. He had known he wasn't safe, even once they reached the car. And the wariness in his eyes didn't fit with the picture of a confused victim who had no idea what had happened to him. Of course, he had lapsed into unconsciousness again. If he had forgotten the men, the blow on his head, had he forgotten her as well?

"He wanted to see you," the nurse continued.

Inexplicably, her heart leaped. "You mean, he asked for me by name?"

"No..." But Pam drew the word out, sounding uncertain. "At least, I don't think so. Did he know your name? I'm pretty sure I told him about you, and that's when he said he'd like to thank you."

Why did she feel so terribly let down? Megan wondered in dismay. Had she wanted him, a complete stranger, to need her? Maybe it was natural to have trouble letting go after you had saved somebody's life.

"Just let me get dressed and I'll..."

"Absolutely not," Pam said bluntly. "You can see him in the morning, but not before. We're keeping him under observation. And you have no business walking around on those feet."

"Those feet happen to be the only ones I own," Megan pointed out tartly. Pam always had been bossy, even as a child.

“And you don't have the option of trading them in for new ones," Pam agreed. "I'm going home in a few minutes, but I'll make sure you're expected tomorrow." A click, and she was gone.

Megan slowly hung up the phone. She should have been reassured. Instead, she felt more restless than ever. She wished she had thought to ask what Pete Tevis had found out, if anything. But probably Pam wouldn't have known.

Maybe she should call her mother. No, it was too late. In the morning, then. At last, reluctantly, she went to bed, for what good that did her.

Her mind replayed the rescue over and over. Each time, it seemed more impossible, more frightening. If she had stopped to think, would she have been so quick to dive in? If he had really struggled, had fought her with the mindless fear many drowning victims display, she could well have died out there in the dark water.

When she fell asleep at last, it was to lose herself in a strange, frustrating dream. She was on the starting blocks, every muscle in her body quivering with tension and eagerness. She knew somehow that it was the Olympic games, even though she wasn't conscious of other competitors or officials. But when she dove, the water was dark and cold and all of a sudden she was aware that something more important than a medal was at stake. But the race was endless; she couldn't see, just swam on and on in the darkness, never hitting the wall, never knowing what she pursued. Or what pursued her.

She didn't think, the next morning, that the dream race had ever ended. What did that mean? That the rescue wasn't the end, either? That the killers would be back?

But it wasn't her problem. It was his. Surely he would know why somebody wanted him dead, and could do something about it. She would go see him, accept his thanks, and wish him well. He was a stranger whom she would never see again.

Megan called the clinic first, then her mother. Mrs. Lovell listened in silence to Megan's story, then said quietly, "Part of me is glad you were there. For his sake."

"And the other part?"

"Wishes you had come straight home and never seen anything."

"I don't understand," she said, perplexed.

"Megan, hasn't it occurred to you that when those men find out he was rescued, they're going to know that you saw them? They won't like that."

"But I didn't see them!" Megan protested. "Not close enough to identify."

"Are they going to take that chance?"

She was silent for a moment. "You're scaring me," she said at last.

"I guess I meant to." Her mother's voice softened. "Just...be careful, will you? Until Pete figures out what's going on?"

"I'll be careful," Megan promised. "And I'll make sure that everybody knows I can't identify them. Okay?"

"Okay," Mrs. Lovell agreed. "Do you work today?"

"Are you kidding? It's Sunday. We'll be mobbed."

"Well... Have a good day then. Why don't you have breakfast with us tomorrow morning? We haven't seen much of you for a while.”

"That sounds good, Mom. See you then."

She could have lived without that conversation, Megan thought as she dropped the receiver in the cradle. Trust her mother to worry. Only, she might be right this time.

Was that what her dream had been trying to tell her? Megan wondered. That it might not be over for her, either? That in interfering she had put herself in danger as well?

"That's ridiculous," Megan said aloud. At the sound of her voice, Zachary leaped up eagerly. "No, we're not going anywhere. At least, you're not. No, you have to stay, Zachary. Stay."

Disappointed, the big dog flopped back down. Hobbling, Megan collected her suntan lotion and towels, the lunch she'd made the night before and a book, in case she had a slow moment. Fat chance. Standing in front of the mirror, she brushed her thick, dark hair into a braid to keep it out of her face.

Ten minutes later, she pulled up in front of the clinic. She was apparently expected, so the nurse on duty let her go right in. At least she hoped it was because she was expected. Otherwise, how safe would he be here?

Megan hesitated outside the room, then took a deep breath and knocked on the door. She was inexplicably nervous. When a deep, gravelly voice said, "Come in," she opened it.

The head of the hospital bed was raised to its maximum height so that he sat up, the covers pulled loosely to his waist. Above that, his chest and shoulders were bare. He was beautifully built, with long, sleek muscles and smooth, tanned skin. But what shocked Megan was the angry scar that slanted across his upper abdomen. It didn't look very old. Clearly, this near drowning wasn't the first time he had come close to death.

At last she lifted her gaze to his face, meeting his gray eyes. He was watching her with an awareness that tightened her stomach, as though he knew what she was thinking, knew her, on an altogether too intimate level. His appraisal wasn't sexual in nature; it was more personal than that. Yet there was a sort of hunger to it, as though he had been waiting for hours just to see her.

Megan shifted uneasily. "Uh, hi. I'm Megan Lovell."

His voice was a little rough, like sandpaper. "I know."

"I wanted to find out how you were feeling. Does your head hurt?"

"Like the devil." He gave a crooked smile. "That's apropos, isn't it? How the hell did your lake get a name like that?"

"It's very cold, and very deep. The Indians had stories about it. They thought something lived here, down in those depths. Maybe it did, once upon a time. At any rate, they avoided it. Devil's Lake is a rough translation of their name for it."

"I came damned close to meeting the devil face-to-face," he said wryly.

She met his gaze. "I think you had already met the devil, in his human form."

His gray eyes narrowed, seemed to search hers. "What about you? Did you meet the devil, too?"

She drew back a little from his intensity. "You asked me that last night. If I had seen them. Does it matter?"

"I don't know. I hope you didn't."

"If I hadn't seen them at all, you'd be dead."

The intensity seemed suddenly to drain out of him, leaving him looking tired. "Yeah." His half-smile was rueful. "You had the guts to put your life on the line for a total stranger's, and I haven't even thanked you, have I?"

"You don't have to. Really. It wasn't a big deal. I'm just glad..."

"I must outweigh you by sixty pounds," he said roughly.

"I didn't know that, when I dove in," Megan admitted. "But I've been a lifeguard for years. I knew what I was doing. Well, sort of. To tell you the truth, I just...reacted. I'm not sure that's being brave. Some people would call it stupid."

His slow smile transformed his hard face, deepening the creases that were carved from nose to mouth. "You can call it whatever you want. Most people don't react that way."

She shrugged uncomfortably. "It's over. I don't want you to feel..."

He made a noncommittal noise, then patted the bed beside him. "Will you sit down? Talk to me for a few minutes?"

"Uh...sure. Why not?" But she had no intention of sitting on the bed. Instead, she pulled a chair over from beside the window. As she sat down, his mouth quirked with faint amusement.

When neither spoke immediately, the silence felt awkward. "You know, nobody has even told me your name," Megan said abruptly.

He looked disconcerted, seeming to hesitate. "Ross," he said at last. "Ross McKenzie. My friends call me Mac."

Again they sat looking at each other, wordless. Megan tried to make him fit with her mental picture of the man she had rescued. She had known, in the back of her mind, that he might be attractive, even handsome, that he had a distinctive face. She had unhesitatingly told Pete Tevis that she would have known if she'd ever seen him before. She'd been right.

He had strong cheekbones, a patrician nose, a hard mouth that was still sensuous. His dark blond hair was a little long, curling on his neck and above the white bandage. The shadow of a beard showed that he hadn't shaved today, and it made him look rakish, even dangerous. Appearances were all too often deceptive; in his case, she had a feeling they were accurate.

She wanted to ask how he had come by the scar. Instead, in a polite voice, she inquired, "Do you live around here?"

"Temporarily. I've been doing some construction work. For Jim Kellerman."

"Oh. I don't think I've ever seen you."

"Or I you."

Another pause as they eyed each other. They weren't getting anywhere, Megan thought. So she said straight out, "Do you remember what happened?"

He didn't move a muscle or change his expression, yet suddenly she sensed his withdrawal. "Only hazily," he said. "I remember that I was going to take a look at a house down the lake. Give 'em a bid for an addition. After that..." He shrugged. "The cold water's the next thing I remember."

Megan watched him intently. "And you don't know why...?"

"It's not the kind of thing you'd forget."

That didn't exactly answer her question. Or perhaps, in a way, it did.

"I'd better let you rest," she said, reaching for her purse. "I'm glad you're recovering, Mr. McKenzie."

He held out one hand, touched her cheek lightly. "I owe you a life for a life now."

The purse forgotten, Megan stared at him, still feeling his touch though his hand lay back at his side. "Don't be ridiculous. That sounds so...melodramatic. It's my job. I've pulled other people in. You don't have to..."

"A rule's a rule." He wasn't even smiling. "You save a life, it belongs to you. So what are you going to do with mine?"

CHAPTER 2

He wished it were a joke. He'd intended to say it lightly, except that on some level he was entirely serious. She had risked her own life to save his, and the danger to her wasn't past. What he ought to do was walk away, start over in another town with another name. But if he did that, it would leave her defenseless. She'd seen him thrown from the boat. And that made her a threat to the men who'd tried to kill him.

He watched the shock in Megan Lovell's vivid blue eyes, then somberly, the effort she made to hide it.

After a moment, she even managed a smile. "I'll let you handle your life. Just use it well, okay?"

Frustration gripped him. He felt trapped in this sterile hospital room. "Has it occurred to you that..."

"Those men won't be happy to know that I saw them," she finished for him. "My mother has already been kind enough to point that out to me. One mother is enough, thanks anyway."

He raised a brow, cursed his pounding head. "Do I remind you of your mother?"

Her gaze flicked to the scar on his stomach, then back to his face. "Of course not. As long as you don't fuss."

Grimly he held those astonishing eyes with his own. "There's a time for fussing."

"I refuse to become afraid of shadows," she said, the tilt of her chin defiant. "There is no reason for them to regard me as a threat. It was dusk. I couldn't even tell you what color hair either of them had! They were just...figures. If they ask around town, that's what they'll hear, that I couldn't identify them. If either of us is in danger, Mr. McKenzie, it's you."

"I'm well aware of that," he said. "But since I don't have the faintest idea why, that makes it a little tough to act."

Her expression was frankly disbelieving, but all she said was, "If I were you, I think I'd go back wherever I came from. You have nothing to hold you here..."

"I have you," he said softly.

She was blunt. "No, you don't. I don't need—or want—anything from you. What I did for you, I'd have done for anyone. I don't expect any payment."

He ignored that. "Maybe you should find an excuse to disappear for a while, too. If you're gone, they're not going to hunt too hard for you."

She actually laughed. "Mr. McKenzie..."

He felt an unaccustomed wrench of irritation and interrupted. "Mac."

"I have a job and family and friends. This is my home. I'm not going to toss my whole life aside for weeks or months, like some book I'm not in the mood for. 'Oh, by the way, Mom, don't call me, I'll call you. Maybe.' " She shook her head and her dark braid flopped against her shoulder. "No. Home is where I'm safest."

He gritted his teeth. "Damn it..."

"Goodbye, Mr. McKenzie." With that she was gone.

He stared broodingly after her, not really seeing the starkness of the hospital room. His head felt like it had the time he'd been trampled by a steer in a rodeo. He hadn't lied to her altogether; events were a little hazy in his mind.