Waters Run Deep (16 page)

He jerked his head toward the tiki bar and collapsed chair. “That had nothing to do with Spencer or this case or the fact you’re not what you seem. That over there was two people forgetting about the world and finding pleasure in being a man and a woman.”

Oddly, his words soothed her. He made their ripping each other’s clothes off in the back of a roadside motel in plain sight sound not so sordid. “Fine. We’ll talk tomorrow. I can’t go back on my word to Spencer anyhow. Not without war breaking out.”

Nate nodded, took four steps and kissed her. “Thanks.”

And then he disappeared like some phantom lover, leaving her with a handbag holding a gun, extra lip gloss and her panties.

And perhaps a child.

Her stomach burned at the thought. Annie lifted her face to the full moon and whispered a fervent prayer that she hadn’t screwed up her life even more.

She hoped the man in the moon was listening. Hoped He still knew she prayed to Him. Hoped He’d throw her a bone on this one.

But the moon just stared back blankly at her.

* * *

After nearly coughing up a lung and drawing viperous looks from the smokers, he went back inside Gerry’s and headed for the men’s room. He was pretty sure he’d zipped his boxers in his fly, and he needed to stop and think about what had transpired moments ago. About the total disregard for discipline he’d spent his life creating.

Talk about screwing the pooch.

He entered the men’s room, which was thankfully empty, and avoided his own eyes in the mirror while he tucked his boxers and shirt into his jeans and washed his hands. When he looked up for something to dry his hands on, he caught sight of himself.

Shit.

His hair stuck up and pink shimmery lipstick smeared his neck. He looked like a man who’d been well laid.

Which he had.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

The passion between him and Annie had risen up and grabbed him by the throat, giving him little choice in following through.

It was as if he’d been under a spell, one that rendered him senseless and stupid.

He scrubbed the lipstick off his neck, smoothed his hair, braced both hands on the sink and sighed. What if he’d gotten Annie pregnant? Bile scalded his stomach and he swallowed, tasting the smoke again.

A kid.

He drew in anther deep breath. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want kids, it’s that he’d never thought much about it. And to bring one into the world that way…the result of two people being wholly irresponsible under the light of a full moon. Wasn’t ideal. Wasn’t good.

God, he hoped she wasn’t pregnant. He would never live that down with his coworkers, his friends…his mother. Everyone knew him to be dependable, steadfast and intelligent, but the combustible sex he’d had with Annie out at the pool had been nothing close to those things. It had been the most intense and fulfilling sex he’d had. Ever.

The bathroom door opened and a drunk kid tumbled in, falling into Nate without an apology.

Nate felt on the verge of losing control, this time in a whole new way—plowing his fist into the rude-ass drunk unzipping his fly. For whatever reason, Nate itched for a fight, for some way to deal with the disappointment he felt at himself. Some way to beat down the fear thumping in his chest. Fear over a sperm finding its way to an egg and multiplying over and over until a child was formed. His child.

But he wouldn’t beat the hell out of a random stranger. Because he was Nate Dufrene. A man who didn’t stoop to infantile levels of behavior merely because he messed up. No, Nate was a man who accepted his failures and mistakes, swallowing them, allowing them to become a fire in his belly. A fire that kept him searching for justice.

Nate moved back, shaking water from his hands, regretting so much about tonight. If only he’d found the same strength of character earlier.

With that thought, he left, refusing to look back. Something was wrong with him and he didn’t know whether it was because the next day would dredge up old hurts and hopes or because the feelings he had for Annie were murky as the Louisiana swamp.

But it was something.

Perhaps it was the guilt he’d held on to over his sister—both his guilt for leaving her alone and vestiges his father had taken to his grave. Nate was like his father in many ways. He was tough and ambitious. Driven. That same hard-assed approach had led to Della being taken. Martin Dufrene had fired Billy Priest, one of the kidnappers, setting him out of the mill in front of all the other workers. Called him a good-for-nothin’ who didn’t deserve the woman and child who’d run off weeks before. Nate’s father had set everything in motion by an unforgiving nature.

Maybe it was a Dufrene curse, to spoil everything innocent around them, like weeds choking out beauty.

Maybe Nate was too much like his father.

He’d certainly lost his control like him.

And that was something he didn’t like at all.

THE NEXT DAY WAS sunshiny and happy.

Unlike Annie.

Of course, Spencer found this out early when he pitched a fit for a certain cereal he’d never before mentioned, but it became obvious to Annie the boy didn’t care about her grumpiness. His world consisted of Spencer and what made him happy.

So she pasted on a tolerant face and took him outside fifteen minutes before the appointed time Nate would pick them up, mostly so she wouldn’t do or say something she regretted.

“So are we going to see boats? Are we going to ride on one?”

The questions made her head throb…or maybe the throb was leftover alcohol and regret from last night’s escapade.

Picou glanced over from her place in a rocking chair. She wore yoga pants and bandana—this time purple—and her bare feet sported yellow polish on her toenails. “Yes, dear boy. Nate has already talked to a friend about a boat ride.”

Picou’s words were tinged in…hope? Happiness? Something about the way she spoke, the spark in her odd violet eyes made Annie wonder the source of the woman’s contentment.

Just to prove the point, Picou turned to the morning sun peeking through the oaks and took a deep breath.

“And gators, too?” Spencer hopped up and down the front porch steps rattling the glass in the front door.

“Stop,” Annie said.

“Maybe,” Picou said.

“Spencer, why don’t you color a page in your coloring book?” Annie wanted the boy to stop hopping around. It made her already queasy stomach rock harder. She’d packed several activity books, crayons and the iPod touch in the bag she carried. Nate said it would take at least an hour and a half if not longer to reach their destination.

“’Kay.” The boy nodded, trudging up the steps.

“Or you could kick the ball in the yard,” Picou suggested, sipping from the teacup she balanced on the arm of the chair.

“Yes!” Spencer shouted, tripping back down the steps and lambasting the ball he’d forgotten earlier into the waxy bushes of the side of the yard.

“That should take some piss and vinegar out of him,” Picou said. “And if that doesn’t work, you can always try Benadryl.”

“What?”

“Dear, you don’t want him to settle down and focus until you’re in the car. Let him expound some energy. Run, gallop and frolic the wiggles out.”

“Oh,” Annie responded, drinking the chicory coffee Picou made each morning. At first she’d been appalled at how different the coffee tasted, but after a couple of cups, she found the flavor addictive.

“You don’t know much about children, so why did you take up nannying?”

Understatement of the Year.

“I like to eat,” Annie said.

The older woman laughed. “I don’t mean to say you’re not good with the boy. I can certainly see the affection, but you don’t, ahem, always seem to—”

“—know what I’m doing?”

Annie swallowed the strong brew, fleetingly thinking about caffeine and pregnancy. Her stomach lurched, and she struck the whole preposterous idea of being pregnant out of her mind and gathered her thoughts. “You’re right. I’m not the most skilled caregiver, but I’m not terrible. Don’t share your thoughts with the Keenes. I need to make a house note next month.”

Picou shook her head. “You’re not bad. Not at all. You’ll make a fine mother someday, my dear.”

Annie choked on the coffee. Some went up and out her nose.

Picou leaped up and clocked her in the center of her shoulder blades—which hurt.

“Ow.” Annie threw up a hand, coughing, but managing breath. “Okay, okay. I’m fine.”

Picou eyed her for a moment before settling back into the rocking chair. “Goodness, child, I personally hate when things go down the wrong pipe. Didn’t mean to spook you.”

After a final clearing of her throat, Annie waved the older woman’s words off. Too late for spooking. “I’ve never wanted children.”

Picou raised her brows. “It’s not for some, I suppose, but I loved most of the moments.”

Annie remained quiet, fervently hoping for a change in topic.

“You never know what a child means until you lose one. I know better than most. And that’s what Tawny fears. I can see it in her eyes. Feel it in her words. These threats to her child have shaken her to her core.”

“I know.”

For a moment the two women sat in companionable silence. The only sounds were the whap, whap, whap of Spencer kicking the soccer ball.

“Nate likes you, Annie,” Picou said.

Annie flinched. The older woman had the uncanny ability of yanking rugs out from beneath people with cutting candor. “I—

Well, that’s—”

Picou laughed. “Yes, I know my boys. Each of them is different as the grains of sand on a beach. Or is it snowflakes? I forget which, but I know that boy, and he is very attracted to you.”

“I know,” Annie said, taking another sip of coffee out of sheer nervousness.

“That’s what I like about you. You’re direct and say what is on your mind. You suit him well.”

“Mrs. Dufrene, I mean Picou, I’m honest.” Annie had to swallow after the statement, mostly because that was a bald-faced lie.

She’d lied since the moment she met Picou, and she wouldn’t stop. Not until Spencer was safe from harm. “But I’m not looking for a relationship. Once filming wraps, I’ll be heading back to California.”

“Mmm” was all the older woman said. It was an unconvinced response and Annie wanted to tell her to tuck her dreams for anything between Annie and her son away. Not going to happen. Unless…

Annie clamped down on that thought. Then she looked down at her flat stomach. Acid sizzled in her gut and the blueberry muffin she’d choked down moments before threatened to make a curtain call. Even if she got pregnant from the results of losing her mind last night, allowing thoughts of her and Nate going somewhere more permanent felt way premature.

The sound of a car crunching down the drive announced the arrival of the man who’d haunted her dreams, occupied her waking thoughts and, perhaps, trampled on all she had planned for her life—or rather not planned since she’d chucked that away on the last man who’d come along. Her mother’s old adage came to mind. There’s many a slip betwixt the cup and the lip. Yeah, her newest slipup came rolling to a stop in the horseshoe drive.

Spencer abandoned the ball and ran to the shiny crossover BMW that was very different from Nate’s patrol car.

“Hey, Spencer, ready to roll?”

“Yeah!” Spencer gave a fist pump and yanked on the backseat handle, before being swallowed by the depths of the sporty car.

Annie stood with a sigh and grabbed the bag at her feet.

“Come, now. It won’t be all that bad,” Picou said, kicking her chair into motion and pulling her bare feet onto the seat. “I’ve never been on an airboat, but I believe people enjoy skimming at breakneck speed over the swampland.”

If it were only the thought of being launched out of a speeding boat. More like the thought of being in too close quarters with a man who’d shut down and overridden any common sense she proclaimed to have. “Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be awesome.”

Annie’s gaze was drawn to Nate as he climbed out of the car with an easy elegance, grabbed the booster sitting on the hood of the rental car parked several yards away, and helped the wriggling puppy of a boy fasten himself into the backseat. Then he turned and walked toward where she sat with Picou on the wide porch. She tried to smile and failed.

“Morning, Mama.” He looked at his mother, before his dark eyes came to rest on her. “Annie.”

“Morning,” she mumbled, glancing away from the intensity present in the mahogany depths. “I’ll go pack this stuff and get Spencer set up.”

He’d already done her job for her, but whatever. She didn’t want to stand beneath his scrutiny, didn’t want Picou to use her extraperceptive powers and figure out there was actually something pretty crazy going on between the two of them.

She moved down the steps past Nate and headed toward his car. She heard Nate lower his voice as he talked to his mother, but she didn’t dare risk a look back for fear of revealing how much he’d affected her in the bright light of morning.

She wanted him even more. With a gut-jerking need that shocked her. And there was no excuse for it. No vodka. No full moon. She tried to stamp down on the desire spiraling through her. She had to stop her passions from flaring out of control around that man.

She shouldered the bag and walked to the passenger side and slid inside a car that smelled new. Vastly different from her ancient Altima parked inside the collapsing garage of her abuela’s bungalow in California. A girl could get used to plush leather and air-conditioning.

“Ready?” Nate asked as he slid into the seat and started the car.

“Sure,” she said, making herself small in the seat. The whole car felt filled with his presence, which would have been fine if she didn’t have that whole wanting-him thing going…and if they hadn’t accidently had sex the night before.

“Are we almost there?” Spencer asked.