Kathleen Creighton - The Seduction of Goody Two-Shoes

“Besides,” she said on a grudging exhalation, settling back in her seat, “it wouldn’t have been necessary. I was going to explain.”

“So…explain,” he said softly.

So…explain. But it came back to the same question: How much could she say? How far could she trust him? She couldn’t possibly tell him everything. Where should she begin?

It was getting warm in the car. She pulled off her sun visor and laid it carefully in her lap, lifted her arms and raked her fingers through her hair, then rolled down her window and closed her eyes as a damp ocean breeze stirred the hair on her temples. She could feel it tightening into corkscrew curls. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that the man-beach bum, artist, rescuer, whoever he was-was gazing in fascination at her hair, at those very same curls.

What was the matter with the man, she wondered? With all those naked bodies out there, right in front of him, he was looking at her …at her hair, yet? A moment ago he’d been gazing at her breasts, erect nipples and all, with complete boredom. Just now, the look in his eyes had been that of a starving man at a banquet-hall window.

It suddenly struck her how small the car was…how close to him she was sitting. She felt much too warm. Claustrophobic. Her heart was beating much too fast-faster even than in the cantina, facing those three smugglers.

She half turned in her seat and pulled up a knee, making a little more space between them. “First,” she said, clearing her throat, “I just want to remind you that I did not ask you to show up in that cantina today.” She narrowed her eyes and fired the question, much like a cat pouncing. “Why did you, by the way?” He didn’t answer immediately, just shifted his gaze slightly to meet hers. Uncomfortable again, she mumbled, “Not that I’m sorry you did, you understand. I’d just like to know what you were doing there. It is kind of odd…”

He waved that off with a grimmace. “Coincidence. Heard you talking to the taxi driver.” And now it was he who seemed uncomfortable.

“And you just…decided to follow me?”

He muttered defensively under his breath, shifting in that irritable way he had. “Well, hell, I thought I’d better. You were heading for a dangerous part of town.” He halted to stare fixedly through the windshield, eyes narrowed in an angry squint.

But for some reason Ellie found herself remembering how blue those eyes were…how clear and clean. Remembering a look she’d caught in them once or twice. Now she wondered if the look could possibly have been…compassion.

What a strange man he is, she thought. So rude and cranky, determined to seem crude and cynical, and yet…

“Do you really have a husband?” he asked suddenly, turning his head to look at her.

It seemed two could play the cat-and-mouse game. Caught by surprise, she answered quickly, “Yes, of course.” Too quickly. Too breathlessly. She could feel the heat of the lie in her cheeks, and looked away, fighting for composure. “He…he was supposed to go with me, you see-yesterday evening, too. We both thought it was just a stomach upset-you know, the turista thing? But then last night they had to fly him to Florida for emergency surgery. Appendicitis.”

“So, you decided you’d go it alone.” He spoke very quietly, staring straight ahead again, only his staccato fingers on the steering wheel betraying inner turmoil. “Jeez. Must have been some important business.”

Ellie nodded eagerly. “Oh, it was. We’d been working for months to set up a meeting. That’s why I couldn’t just let it all be for nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” He reached into his shirt pocket and took out a battered pack of cigarettes, tapped one out, put it in his mouth and lit it. When he had everything stored away in his pocket again, he settled back, blew smoke carefully out the window and said in a gravelly voice, “So tell me-what was it you were buying with that wad of cash?”

“I told you-it’s not drugs,” Ellie said stiffly.

“Not drugs?”

“That I promise you.” But he held her eyes, refusing to let it go at that, and after a tense few moments more she folded. “Animals,” she said on a gust of released breath.

“Animals?” He repeated the word as if he’d never heard it before.

She nodded. “Birds…reptiles…you know. Some of them are very rare, and worth a lot of money. A lot. ” She paused, and when he continued to stare at her in frowning incomprehension, added lamely, “I told you last night, remember? We own a pet shop. In Portland, Oregon.”

“Rare…” he said slowly, as if he hadn’t heard that. “As in…endangered?”

“Well, some maybe, but-”

“As in… illegal? ”

She could feel the warmth in her cheeks again. “Oh, I wouldn’t know about that, ” she hurriedly said. “The important thing is that these animals are being shipped regardless-”

“Smuggled, you mean.”

“-and most of them die en route. Because the people who do the…shipping…don’t know anything about animals, you see? My husband and I do know about animals. So, we thought, if we could go directly to the source-”

“The source.”

She really wished he’d stop repeating everything she said. “That’s right-the man in charge of shipping-”

“The head smuggler, you mean.”

Ellie just looked at him, fighting hard to hold on to her temper. “That envelope he gave you back there in the cantina,” she said, speaking slowly and carefully. “It should have the instructions-directions, I mean-for the meeting. Maybe a map. If we’re supposed to be at the meeting place by day after tomorrow… By the way, can I see it, please?”

Her rescuer parked his cigarette between his teeth and pulled the envelope from his shirt pocket. “You mean this one?” But instead of handing it over he just went on holding the envelope and looking at her, an odd, wary look in his eyes.

Almost as if he was waiting for something.

She held out her hand. “Yes-can I see it? We have to-” And that was when it hit her.

“Oh…no…” she whispered. She felt herself go cold.

Her companion took a long drag from his cigarette and said mildly, “Just who in the hell is this we, Kemo Sabe? You and your husband? ” His lips had a sardonic tilt, but the glint in his eyes was anything but amused. “Ah-that’s right.” He snapped his fingers. “According to you, he’s in a hospital somewhere in Florida. Man, I hope he heals fast. But then…”

He’d been wondering when it was going to occur to her.

She’d clamped a hand over her mouth. Now she peeled it away, leaving a white, pinched look around her lips and the imprint of fingers on her flaming cheeks. Her voice was uneven, hushed with dismay. “As far as those guys are concerned, you’re my husband.”

“Uh-uh,” said McCall flatly, shaking his head. “Don’t even think about it, sister.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again without saying anything. Just went on looking at him. Looked at him for so long those golden eyes of hers seemed to shimmer. It struck him suddenly that begging and pleading weren’t in this woman’s repertoire. That asking for-even needing -help would never be easy for her.

It also struck him that the fact she’d had to accept his help, not once but three times, meant that he was probably never going to make it on to her top ten list of favorite people. He didn’t know why he minded that, but he did.

“What are you looking for?”

She’d dragged her handbag onto her lap and was rummaging around in it like a hungry dog digging for a bone.