Lancelot of the Pines (Louisiana Knights Book 1) Page 7

  “Why was that?”

  “He felt sorry for me. He liked to take on underdog cases now and then, when he thought he could win.”

  “But he didn’t. Win, that is.”

  “He said he could get probation for me, but it didn’t happen.”

  “You were sentenced to five years instead.”

  It was the first of many promises Bruce hadn’t kept. “He was sorry about that, I guess, because he came to see me at the correction center, brought me books and hand lotion and all the other little comforts families usually bring. He did arrange parole after four years. When I was released, he took me home with him.”

  “So you married him.”

  It wasn’t that simple, but she was pretty sure Lance wouldn’t understand. “A year or so later, yes. He was—was kind and acted as if he cared. I had nowhere else to go. One thing led to another.”

  “I’ll bet it did.”

  Her smile was crooked. “You try being barely eighteen years old and just out, no family or job prospects, and see what happens.”

  He made no answer, but sat studying her with concentration in his eyes. It was as if he was willing her to say something more, something incriminating.

  She refused. He was the one who wanted to talk about Bruce, not her.

  “When did he put everything he owned in your name?”

  “What?” He couldn’t have said what she thought, couldn’t have meant it if he’d said it.

  “All his assets; the house and other investment properties, cars, boat, bank accounts—everything was signed over to you. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

  She could only shake her head. “He never mentioned it. It must be a tax dodge of some kind. He hated paying taxes.”

  “He never gave you documents to sign.”

  Her heart gave a small leap in her chest. “Insurance papers, or so he said, though he gave me no chance to read them, seemed to think I wouldn’t understand the fine print. He was older, and wanted to be sure I was taken care of if anything happened to him. Oh, and then there were the papers for the car he bought for me.”

  “A car.”

  “Yes, but he took the keys after—that is, about a year ago.”

  “Why was that?”

  “I guess he was afraid I might drive off and leave him.”

  He took a moment to digest that, too. “This would be the same car you wrecked after being abducted at the shopping mall?”

  Hot color rose in her face. “It wasn’t as if I had a choice! Or should have to feel bad about using my own car, for that matter. It was just—when Bruce didn’t come home that evening, I saw an opportunity to get out of the house for a while.”

  “You went shopping.”

  “It was something to do besides drive around. I didn’t realize—I thought he would be back later in the night.”

  “I see.”

  In those few seconds, he lowered his eyes to her hem that had ridden up again. A muscle tightened in his jaw before he looked away. She grabbed for the stretchy fabric to halt its progress. Grasping for a change of subject as well, she said, “I hope Granny Chauvin got her car back okay that we borrowed. I’d hate if anything happened to it.”

  “It was returned safe and sound. Trey saw to it.”

  “No nicks or scrapes. No bullet holes.”

  A grim smile touched his mouth, though it was hard to tell if it was from amazement that she would care what happened to Granny Chauvin’s property or because she’d noticed where he was looking. For a split second, it crossed her mind to let the hem go and find out what he’d do if he saw she was naked under Trey’s old shirt.

  The chance never came. It was taken away by the hum of a vehicle. It grew louder, riding hard, the sound rising and falling as it bounced over the rough track. It was headed straight toward their sanctuary among the trees.

  Lance saw Mandy’s eyes widen and the sudden clench of her hand into a fist. He could relieve her fear with a few words, but he hesitated.

  Anger simmered inside him at the way he was taken in by her. He’d been convinced she was a useless society type, so accustomed to money she’d do anything to keep it rolling in. To discover she had lived on the streets and had a criminal record before marrying Bruce Caret put a whole different slant on the case. It was possible the man’s disappearance was deliberate, a con game of some type. She might well be part of it.

  He didn’t want to believe it. She was so young, for one thing, still in her early twenties according to her records. She was secretive and withdrawn, yes, but who wouldn’t be, given her circumstances? She also seemed guileless, hunted, in need of rescue.

  He was a sucker for the walking wounded. He was also a pushover for females who could look dewy fresh and outrageously gorgeous with no makeup, finger-combed hair, and wearing only an extra-long T-shirt.

  The sight of her teeny-weeny peach-colored bikini hanging over the bathroom shower rod, dripping into its pan beneath, had hit him like a ton of bricks. Imagination was the greatest aphrodisiac, so they said, and his had been working overtime for the past few minutes. He could barely think, knowing she was sitting there in front of him, answering his questions, while naked under that old T-shirt.

  His predicament was made worse by what took place the night before, when he’d stood holding her with every luscious curve and hollow under her shirt pressed to him. It was all he could do not to wrap his arms around her, fill his hands with warm, trembling female, and maybe carry her back to the musty mattress in that haunted bedroom.

  He didn’t know which annoyed him most, that she’d fooled him up to this point, or that he was beyond hot for her, so hot he could barely control it.

  “Trey,” he said in abrupt explanation as he surged to his feet. “It’s Trey.”

  “You mean—”

  “I recognize the sound of his bike.”

  “I thought no one knew where we were going.”

  He gave a negative shake of his head. “My guess is he’s checking out a hunch.”

  The way she wilted and closed her eyes as tension left her made him feel like a creep for even thinking of letting her stew. He didn’t stay to wallow in it, but let himself out of the RV before he did something really stupid, like tell her he was sorry.

  Trey piloted his monster Harley through the trees, riding as if it was a part of him, before coming to a halt a few feet from where Lance stood. Swinging off, he set the kickstand and then sauntered toward him.

  “What’s up, bro?” he asked with a grin. “Getting along okay with the dangerous babe?”

  Lance was in no mood for jokes. “We’re fine. You sure you weren’t followed?”

  “If I ever had a tail, I lost it, guaranteed. Nobody keeps up with me unless I let them.”

  “So what brings you out here?”

  “Not the sight of your sour mug,” his cousin said, setting his hands on his hips. “Zeni sent me.”

  “Zeni?” What the coffee shop manager had to do with anything was more than he could see.

  “Seems she’s worried about your lady friend’s wardrobe, or lack thereof. She went shopping for a few things.” Turning back to his bike, Trey dragged a couple of plastic shopping bags printed with a discount store’s logo from his saddle bags and tossed them toward Lance.

  There was more in them than clothes; he could feel it. He’d have to go through the stuff, make sure there was nothing lethal in it. “Nice of Zeni to think of her.”

  “She’s a good kid, in spite of her take-no-prisoners attitude.”

  “Kid?”

  “Her job application said twenty-one, but I doubt it. I make her close to ten years younger than I am.”

  Trey had bothered to do the math? Interesting. Not that he intended to call him on it. Or to think too much about the fact that Mandy was quite a bit younger than his thirty years.

  “So she just guessed you’d have an idea where to bring this stuff?”

  “Smart of her, wasn’t it? But then she’s a bright gi
rl.”

  “So it seems. Tell her thanks, okay?”

  Lance turned away as he spoke, in part to hide his disbelief that Trey might have a thing going for the employee who was always on his case, but also to head back inside before Mandy decided to come out and see what was going on. He didn’t much care for the idea of Trey seeing how she looked wearing nothing except his old T-shirt.

  “Hey, aren’t you going to offer me a cup of coffee? I know you have some of my special blend made, because I can smell it. And I put a fresh pound in the rig not two days ago.”

  It went against the grain, it really did. He was saved from answering, however, by the squeak of the screen door.

  “Of course he’s going to invite you into your own RV,” Mandy said, her smile for Trey entirely too welcoming. “Come on in. Have you had breakfast?”

  Trey’s eyelids flickered as he took in the sight of Mandy in the doorway, barefooted and bare-legged as she held the screen door open. The glance he sent Lance’s way was hooded, considering, as he moved ahead of him up the steps.

  Mandy stepped back out of the way as the two of them came inside. Lance breathed a sigh of relief as he saw she’d skimmed back into her bikini before appearing at the door. Still, the knowledge that it was still damp, clinging to her body in myriad places, made him feel more than a little light-headed.

  He set the bags he held on the table and did a quick check before handing them to Mandy. She peeked inside then caught them to her chest as if they were treasure beyond price.

  The sight made Lance feel about two inches tall. He was responsible for her security, rather than for her comfort, but he could have stopped somewhere the afternoon before, or at least made a call to Trey. If Zeni could send him out here, he could have done the same.

  “Thank you so much,” Mandy told Trey, her eyes suspiciously bright. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

  “Thank Zeni,” Trey said easily, and repeated what he’d said earlier.

  “It’s beyond thoughtful of her, but she won’t lose by it. I’ll pay her back as soon as I can get back to my purse at the house in town.”

  “Never mind that. Zeni picked my pocket for the cash before she went shopping.”

  “Then I’ll pay you back,” Mandy said with a lift of her chin and defiant glance his way that made Lance wonder if she thought he was seeing her as the pickpocket.

  Maybe he was, at that. Lance grimaced as he eased around Mandy and poured coffee from the maker that hung under the upper cabinet. He couldn’t help thinking she might have played that game while on the street, or others along the same line.

  Trey’s expression turned serious as he took the cup Lance handed him. “Delivering the shopping isn’t the only reason I’m here.”

  “No?”

  “First, there’s this that I thought you might want.” Putting his free hand behind his back, he brought it forward again with a Glock in it.

  “Good thinking, thanks,” Lance said as he took the gun he used as an alternative to his service weapon that he’d turned in. He’d slip it into the pocket of the driver’s side door later. “What else?”

  He glanced at Mandy, then away again. “Sheriff Tate didn’t want to call you on an official line, but there’s been a development he thought you should know about.”

  “Excuse me,” Mandy said at once as she backed toward the bedroom, still hugging the shopping bags. “I can’t wait to see what’s in these.”

  Lance didn’t object, and neither did Trey. In fact, they were quiet while she pushed the sliding door closed that divided the bedroom from the rest of the RV. Lance reached to flip the control that started the air conditioning unit overhead. Under the cover of its rumbling, he asked. “What kind of break?”

  “They found a body floating northwest of New Orleans, in the backwaters of Lake Pontchartrain. It’s been identified as Bruce Caret.”

  “They’re sure?”

  “Identified by his dental work. Something else, it seems he was tortured before being shot execution style, with a nice, neat bullet in the back of his head.”

  Lance grimaced. “A bad way to go. But it means that Mandy—“

  “Yeah. Your charge is officially a widow.”

  “Son of a gun.”

  Chapter 7

  Mandy, listening at the sliding door, couldn’t catch everything the two men said, but she heard enough. Tears slowly rimmed her eyelids and tracked down her cheeks.

  She’d been half-convinced Bruce’s disappearance was a hoax, one he’d arranged for reasons of his own. Why he might do that, she wasn’t sure; there was much she’d never understood about his business interests. Or his associates, either, if it came to that. That didn’t mean she noticed nothing.

  Because she’d hit the streets, dropping out of school, Bruce always assumed she was incapable of understanding what went on around her. He seemed to forget she’d earned her diploma and read voraciously while at the correctional center. Besides, long hours in a classroom weren’t the only way to gain an education. Life was often a better teacher.

  A major lesson was that little difference existed between a street gang and a group of high powered businessmen. One way or another, they all wanted to be on top.

  The news Trey had brought changed everything; she saw that clearly. Before, she’d been Bruce’s little wife who might know more than she realized. Now she was a possible murderess, a Black Widow who had persuaded her husband to put all his assets in her name and then hired someone to kill him—even she had watched enough police dramas to know a bullet to the back of the head was the signature of a hired hit.

  Never mind that someone seemed to want her dead.

  Mandy closed her eyes, wiping at tears with the edges of her hands as she turned to lean against the wall next to the sliding door. Poor Bruce. The thought of him being found the way Trey described was horrifying. He hadn’t been a bad man, at least not entirely. He’d helped her out of a difficult situation when she had nowhere else to turn. He’d loved her in his way, though it sometimes seemed more like obsession. He’d asked so little of her, and she’d felt sorry for him. She’d thought…

  What had she thought? She hardly knew anymore. And what difference did it make now?

  In a peculiar way, she’d been saying goodbye to him for the past year, going from denial that there was a real problem in their marriage, to anger that he saw her not as she was but as he wanted her to be, from depression that there was nothing she could do to mend matters to final acceptance that she needed to go. The more she detached from him, however, the harder he held on until it felt as if she were choking.

  Now it was Bruce who was gone. Somehow she was left with this crazy situation he seemed to have created. She had been over it until her brain was numb from the effort, but could come up with no explanation for what was happening.

  She hadn’t known Bruce had put his assets in her name. What was that about? Was it the tax dodge she’d suggested to Lance, or something Bruce was attempting to hide? If the last, who was he trying to fool? And why in heaven’s name hadn’t he told her?

  Unless he’d meant to tell her, but never had the chance? The thought brought fresh tears.

  “Mandy?”

  That call, coming from outside the door next to her, startled her so she jumped and nearly fell over the corner of the bed. Her voice was husky as she answered. “Yes?”

  “You decent?”

  Now there was a loaded question, since she was fairly sure Lance didn’t consider her anything near it.

  “Just a minute!” She scrubbed the tears from her face and whipped off Trey’s T-shirt. Shimmying her way out of her bikini, she reached for the panties and bra that spilled from one of the plastic bags.

  “Staying here is too risky. We need to get moving.”

  “Who says?” she called, jerking off tags before fastening the bra, pulling on a pair of jeans and a women’s T-shirt, and then stepping into a pair of flip-flops. Everything fit, for which she
blessed Zeni yet again.

  “Sheriff Tate.” His answer was fainter, as if he was moving away. “Hold on to something. I’m pulling out.”

  The sheriff ought to know if anyone did, Mandy thought. But risky for whom?

  From outside came the rumble of Trey’s motorcycle cranking up. Seconds later, the sound revved to a higher pitch as he took off. Mandy barely had time to tear a new hairbrush from its packaging and drag it through her hair before the RV started moving. She grabbed for the sliding door, shoving it open and fastening it back.

  Lance was in the driver’s seat, brow furrowed as he eased through the trees, bumping over ruts and hummocks of grass while branches slapped the sides of the RV. Moments later, he reached the overgrown drive, and their forward motion became smoother.

  Mandy moved toward the front then, catching onto cabinets and walls for balance until she could plop down into the passenger seat. Reaching for her seatbelt, she asked, “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere else,” Lance answered with a side glance that lingered a second longer than necessary, as if he might have noticed her red-rimmed eyes.

  That meant he didn’t know, or so she figured. She didn’t ask again. And was just as glad that he didn’t question why she was upset.

  They drove for hours, stopping only for diesel fuel and to stretch their legs. Avoiding Interstates and major highways, they kept to backroads and scenic by-ways. They also stayed away from restaurants and fast food outlets, snacking on cookies and chips as they drove. Their general direction was north, away from the bayous and flat river plains and into the pinewood hills of the upper portion of the state. Lance piloted the RV with confidence, though Mandy suspected him of turning right or left at crossroads and intersections based on some kind of mental coin toss.

  They hardly spoke at all. The grim nature of their flight put a damper on frivolous comments, and everything else seemed off limits. Mandy spent a lot of time staring out the window, coming to grips with her changed circumstances yet trying not to think about the way it had happened. She offered to drive once or twice, but Lance refused the help. Whether that was because he didn’t trust her with Trey’s baby RV or he thought she’d take off and leave him the first chance she got was impossible to say.