The Great Escape (14 page)

“I have a place in Chicago. And if you want to know more, you have to get off the ferry.”

She did want to know more, but not as much as she wanted payback. “I’ll admit I’m curious. But I’m not getting off.” The whistle blew its final warning. “If you want to talk to me, we can talk right here. But first I need to find the ladies’ room so I can throw up.”

He decided not to push her. “All right. We’ll talk here.”

“See if you’re competent enough to find us a place to sit where everybody won’t stare at you.” She headed into the ship’s cabin, knocking her backpack against a fire extinguisher as she ducked around a corner. She wedged through the door on the other side and raced down the ramp just as they were getting ready to pull it up. Moments later, she was standing in the shadows by the municipal dock sign, watching the ferry chug away with Panda on board.

Knowing she’d gotten the best of him felt good, but it would have felt even better if she weren’t stuck here until that same ferry returned, undoubtedly bringing Panda along with it. This was the kind of situation Meg got caught up in, not Lucy, but she couldn’t regret it. At least she’d recovered a small measure of pride.

The dark gray SUV with Illinois plates she’d last seen at the lake house was parked in the municipal lot. She had an afternoon to kill until she could leave again, and she wasn’t doing it in town.

As she biked back to the house, she passed a playground. She’d carried her infant sister ten blocks to a playground like this the day after their mother had died just so she could push Tracy in a baby swing—a fourteen-year-old’s idea of what a good mother should do. Tracy had screamed the whole time.

Patrick Shade … What kind of name was that?

If she chartered a boat to take her to the mainland, she wouldn’t have to see him again. Expensive, but worth it. She turned the bike around and went back to the dive shop.

“We’re booked for the rest of the day,” the guy behind the counter told her. “The
Mary J
and
Dinna Ken
are out, too. But if you want to go tomorrow …”

“That’s okay,” she said, even though it wasn’t okay at all.

Maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with Panda again. She’d made her point, and he wasn’t the kind of man who explained himself more than once.

The house smelled faintly of cooking gas and the hamburger she’d made for dinner last night. How could he own a place like this and not put a single personal mark on it? She traded in the combat boots for flip-flops, grabbed a book she’d picked up in town yesterday, and carried it down the rickety steps.

He’d pulled the kayak up on shore. She sat on the edge of the dock, but she couldn’t read, couldn’t do anything except try to quell her panic. What would she do once she was back on the mainland? Where would she go?

A noise distracted her. She looked up and saw a man who definitely wasn’t Panda coming down the steps from the house. He was tall, with a large frame. The steps were wobbly and he took his time, his carefully styled light brown hair glistening with an undoubtedly expensive hair product. “Hey there!” he called out cheerfully.

Although he was good-looking, everything about him was a little too loud—his voice, the crest on the pocket of his designer sports coat, the heavy gold bracelet and big college ring any intelligent man would have gotten rid of after his frat boy days ended. “I heard Panda’s back on the island,” he said, taking in her tattoo and hair as he came toward her on the dock. “But nobody answered the door.”

“He’s not here.”

“Too bad.” With a broad smile, he thrust out his hand. “I’m Mike Moody. Big Mike. I’ll bet you’ve seen my signs.”

She shook his hand, then regretted it as the pungent scent of his cologne clung to her skin.

“Big Mike’s Island Brokerage,” he said. “Anybody who buys or sells property on this island—house or boat, big or small. Hell, I’ve even sold a couple of horses. I take care of it all.” His straight teeth had an iridescence achievable only in a dental chair. “I sold Panda this house.”

“Did you?”

“I didn’t catch your name.”

“I … go by Viper.”

“No kidding. That’s some name. You’re one of the hippie girls.” Like a good salesman, he sounded more admiring than critical.

“Goth,” she replied, which was beyond ridiculous.

“Yeah, that’s right.” He nodded. “I stopped because I’ve got a boat I thought Panda might be interested in.”

Lucy was a big believer in being cooperative, but Viper didn’t share her principles. “Come back after the six o’clock ferry gets in. I know he’ll want to talk to you about it. Maybe bring a pizza along. That way the two of you can have a long chat.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Big Mike said. “Panda’s a great guy. I don’t know him well, but he seems like an interesting character.”

He waited, hoping she’d provide a few details, and Viper decided to cooperate. “He’s a lot different from the way he was before he went to prison.”

Her troublemaking didn’t go over nearly as well as she’d hoped. “Everybody deserves a second chance,” Big Mike said solemnly. And then, “Holy cripes, but you look familiar.”

While she speculated on what kind of man would say “holy cripes,” Big Mike gazed at her more closely. “You been on the island before?”

“No. My first trip.”

His gold bracelet gleamed as he stuck his hand in his pocket. “It’ll come to me. I never forget a face.”

She hoped that wasn’t true. He looked like he wanted to linger for a chat, so she nodded toward the steps. “I have some things to do in the house. I’ll walk with you.”

He followed her, and when they reached the top, he pumped her hand again. “Anything you need, you let me know. Big Mike’s services don’t stop with the sale. Ask anybody on the island, and they’ll tell you that.”

“I’ll remember.”

He finally left. She began to walk toward the house only to stop as she heard a rustle in the trees that didn’t sound as though it came from a squirrel. A branch snapped, and she glimpsed a bright red T-shirt.

“I see you, Toby!” she called out. “Stop spying on me!”

She didn’t expect an answer, and she didn’t receive one.

She made a sandwich, but tossed it out after only a few bites. She sent Meg a text that revealed nothing important, then did the same with her parents. She wanted to send Ted a text but couldn’t imagine what she’d say. With hours still to kill, she wandered into the sunroom.

Three walls of dirty, square-paned windows extended in a large square bay from the wainscoting to the ceiling. Lumpy couches, wing chairs upholstered in fabrics popular in the early nineties, and scarred tables sat haphazardly around the big room. This must have been the family’s primary indoor gathering place. Built-in bookshelves displayed the detritus that ended up in summer homes: yellowed paperbacks, videotapes of old movies, board games in broken boxes held together by dehydrated rubber bands. There was something about this house she’d loved from the beginning, and her inner Martha Stewart wanted to toss out all the junk and clean those windows until they sparkled.

She picked up a ratty dish towel she’d used to wipe up a Coke spill and rubbed one corner of the glass. Most of the dirt was on the outside, but not nearly all of it. She blew on the pane and rubbed again. Better.

Cooking wasn’t the only homemaking task she’d observed during her White House years, and fifteen minutes later she was equipped with a squeegee she’d seen in the upstairs bathroom, a bucket of clean water with a few drops of dishwashing soap, and a stepladder from the pantry. Before long, she’d finished one section of the sunroom windows. She reached for a spot she’d missed, and when she was satisfied, climbed down only to trip on the bottom rung.

Panda stood just inside the door, a can of Coke in his hand, combat in his eyes. “I’ll bet you were real popular with the Secret Service.”

Chapter Eight

S
HE SHOULD NEVER HAVE COME
back to the house, and she certainly shouldn’t have let him catch her washing his filthy windows. She grabbed the ladder for support and tested Viper’s sneer again. “Did I hurt your pride?”

“Destroyed it,” he said dryly.

“Excellent. It’s not every day I get to outwit a trained professional.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘outwit.’”

“I would.” His clothes had dried, but he kicked his shoes off, and she could have sworn his dark stubble had grown since she’d given him the slip. “The ferry’s not due in until six.” She patted her tutu skirt back in place. “Obviously you had better luck chartering a boat than I did.”

“The gun helped.”

She had no idea whether he was serious or not. She knew nothing about him. He ran his thumb around the curve of the Coke can and propped a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Now I see why your father was so insistent about me not identifying myself. You’ve had practice pulling your disappearing act.”

“I’ve only slipped away a few times.”

He jabbed his Coke in the general direction of her face. “If I’d really been on duty, you wouldn’t have slipped away at all.”

True. He wouldn’t have let her out of his sight. Which meant her family really hadn’t rehired him. “Who tipped you off that I’ve been staying here?”

“Let’s just say I’ve kept tabs on you.”

Her parents
. “I’m touched.”

He gestured toward the section of windows she’d been working on. “You want to tell me why you’re doing that?”

“Because they’re filthy.” She laid one more grievance at his feet. “The whole place is a mess. If you’re lucky enough to own a house like this, you should take care of it.”

“I do. A woman comes in every two weeks.”

“And you can see for yourself what a top-notch job she’s been doing.”

He glanced around as if he was looking at the place for the first time. “I guess it’s getting a little mangy.”

“You think?”

“I’ll hire somebody else.”

She wondered if his gun was back in its ankle holster. Firearms didn’t bother her. She’d spent years being guarded by armed agents, although they tended to wear business suits instead of jeans and obscene T-shirts. So it wasn’t the gun. It was the fact that she hadn’t known about the gun or the two-week contract or any of the measly details she should have known about before she decided to drop that towel and jump into bed with him.

She tossed down the squeegee. “Why did my parents hire you? As opposed to someone reputable?”

That annoyed him. “I am reputable.”

“I’m sure they thought so at the time.” Viper smirked. “How did they find you anyway? Never mind. You’re on one of those work-release programs the prisons offer.”

He cocked his head, his expression puzzled. “What’s happened to you?”

Her rudeness was giving her a rush. “Or maybe an aide spotted your name on a sex offenders registry and decided to play a little prank?” She wanted to go on like this forever, let her tongue run free, fling out one nasty after another, say whatever insult popped into her head without a care about how it reflected on the office of the president of the United States.

“You wanted to know about me. I’ll tell you.” The Coke can landed with a thud on the wobbly wooden table by the door.

“No need.” She practiced her new Viper’s smirk. “I don’t care.”

“I’m thirty-six. I was born and raised in Detroit. In and out of trouble until the army straightened me out. Pulled sweet duty in Germany, went to Wayne State for a degree in criminal justice—”

“You have a
college degree
? You can barely talk.”

That made him angrier. “Just because I don’t brag about my exclusive upbringing doesn’t mean I can’t talk.”

“I never bragged—”

“I joined the Detroit police force. Resigned a couple of years ago to take over a private firm in Chicago that specializes in security for corporate executives, celebrities, athletes, and Wall Street crooks getting death threats they damn well deserve. Your parents hired me to guard you because I’m good at what I do. I’ve never been married and don’t intend to be. I like dogs, but I’m gone too much to have one. I also like hip-hop and opera. Make of that whatever you want. When I’m not on duty I sleep in the raw. Anything else you’d like to know that’s none of your business?”

“Patrick Shade? Is that name another of your many lies?”

“No. And there weren’t that many lies.”

“How about Huntsville prison?”

“Give me a break. You knew that was bogus.”

She hadn’t exactly. “Construction worker?”

“I worked construction for a while.”

“A man of honor. My mistake.”

He wouldn’t back down. “Your parents hired me. I took my orders from them, and judging from what happened today, they made a good call when they told me not to identify myself.”

“They’re overprotective.”

“You’ve gotten threatening letters. You’ve been knocked over a couple of times. And you were part of a high-profile wedding. There is such a thing as exercising reasonable caution.”

“The only person who caused me any harm was you!”

He flinched, which should have made her feel better than it did. “You’re right,” he said. “I should have kept my hands to myself no matter how crazy you made me.”