Lucky's Woman

by Jones, Linda Winstead

  “Satisfied?” Lucky asked when his mouth was once again empty.

  Not even a little. “Yes, thank you.” She shoveled another bite into her mouth, not nearly so gracefully as Lucky.

  All day her recently awakened ability had remained blessedly silent, but now, looking at Lucky across the table, she was once again assaulted by the image of his body above hers, the fan whirring, the scar on his shoulder. As visions went it was very nice…even though she knew this man could break her heart without breaking a sweat.

  She was going to have to remind herself frequently that no matter how far they went with this charade, he didn’t love her and never would. It was work, a game, perhaps even a diversion.

  If she was smart she wouldn’t let this make-believe romance go that far, but she had a feeling her intelligence or lack thereof had nothing to do with her relationship with Lucky Santana.

  Upon returning to the cabin, Annie had changed into a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt that said If You Can Read This, You’re Standing Too Close. Her way of telling him to keep a distance when they were in private, or complete coincidence? He couldn’t be sure. This plan definitely had her antsy.

  Lucky had removed his jacket and tie and put aside the shoulder holster and pistol, but that was his only concession to comfort, as he made a few phone calls on his cell and studied the Huff case file.

  Annie passed the evening curled up in her favorite chair with a large sketch pad sitting on her lap. A fire burned low in the stone fireplace, a welcome and cozy addition on a cool night. Annie said she was working, but from Lucky’s vantage point it looked as if she was passing the time doodling so she wouldn’t have to deal with him.

  “I’d like to place an order,” he said after a long bout of silence.

  Annie’s head popped up. “What kind of an order?”

  “You make bags, right?”

  “I design and manufacture handbags.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  She looked thoroughly disgusted. “So, what is this? A gift for your girlfriend?”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend. You know that.”

  “Mother?”

  He felt his jaw tighten. “Dead. Look, all I want is a pretty diaper bag for…”

  “Diaper bag?” She dropped the sketch pad. “I don’t design diaper bags!”

  She sounded absolutely insulted. “Why not? I want something about so big.” He gestured with his hands. “I guess it should be pink, maybe with some froufrou girlie stuff like the bag you carried tonight, and it should have dividers on the inside so the baby crap can be organized. I want an outer pocket with a Velcro fastener.” He reached for the holster he’d deposited on the table beside his chair and smoothly drew the pistol out, holding it up so Annie could see. “The pocket should be about this size, and there should be a built-in holster that—”

  “Hold it.” Annie lifted her hand in a motion meant to demand silence. “You want me to design a diaper bag with a special compartment for a gun?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You’re warped.”

  “I’m sure Sadie wouldn’t go to the Piggly Wiggly armed, but you never know when you might need access to a diaper and a weapon.”

  In disgust, she snatched up her sketch pad and dismissed his request. “You need serious psychological help,” she said without looking at him.

  “Something we have in common.”

  Annie returned to her doodling, and Lucky leaned back in his chair and watched. They had more in common than either of them would admit. Best not to go there, he supposed.

  He was staring into the fire moments later when Annie spoke in a more level tone of voice. “Sadie. She’s the one, right?”

  “The one what?” he snapped.

  “The one you sometimes think you’re in love with. That song ‘Sexy Sadie’ popped into my head, and when I hummed it you looked like I’d slapped you. You even asked once who told me about Sadie. Sometimes you think you missed the boat with her, that if you’d made your move before she met—”

  “I didn’t give you permission to go poking around in my brain,” he snapped.

  “I’m not,” Annie said. “At least, not right now. Everything’s quiet at the moment, which is very nice. And now you’re the one changing the subject. Tell me about Sadie.” The question was offered casually, but he suspected there was nothing casual about it. “I’m guessing she has a baby, a girl, since you requested a pink diaper bag.”

  “She has a baby girl and a little boy. We were partners for years. I never thought I’d trust a woman to watch my back, but Sadie was sharp. She was a good shot, quick on her feet, smart.” He grinned. “Sassy, too.”

  “So, you two were…” Annie lifted one hand and waggled her fingers. The pencil she was holding danced.

  “Never,” Lucky said emphatically. “I wouldn’t ruin a good, solid work relationship with sex. Sex is easy to find. Someone you can truly trust, that’s another story.” He snorted. “And then she has to go and fall in love and get married and make babies. It’s disgusting.”

  Annie smiled widely. “You never loved Sadie. You like her, and you don’t really like many women, so you were easily and understandably confused.”

  “I like women just fine,” Lucky argued in a steady voice.

  “You like women as a gender. You admire them, but you don’t want any one to get too close. Liking women and liking a woman isn’t the same thing, and you know it. You like Sadie and you trust her, and I understand that trust doesn’t come easily to you. Sadie’s in a good place. She’s found what she spent half her life searching for. If you really care about your old partner, you’ll be happy for her.”

  “I am,” he said defensively. And then he added, in a softer voice, “Most of the time.”

  “So—” Annie started doodling again “—I can see that you don’t want to talk about Sadie. What about your mother? You said she was dead. When did she pass?”

  Old, nasty feelings rose up and threatened to choke him. “Not tonight.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t sound surprised at his refusal.

  Was she peeking inside him right now, searching for his deepest secrets? Lucky didn’t think so. She was too relaxed at the moment. In the past, when she’d claimed to be having some sort of vision, she’d been strained and pale. Right now she was peaceful and pretty, with her feet bare dangling and that sketch pad in her lap, and the fire giving her face a glow that was warm and soft and almost eerie.

  “A couple of guys from the agency will be here tomorrow afternoon,” he said in a businesslike tone of voice. “The surveillance equipment will be set up and operational by tomorrow night.”

  “Your toys,” she said with a half smile.

  “My toys.”

  Lucky reached for the pitifully thin and inadequate folder the sheriff had delivered that morning, and opened it to peruse information he’d already digested. Twice.

  So, who was changing the subject now?

  Behind a closed bedroom door, Annie threw on her Drama Queen T-shirt and opened the curtains at the wide window that looked over the mountains. Would Lucky sleep tonight? Would she?

  She didn’t worry about anyone watching her through the window. Not only was her bedroom dark, there was nothing beyond her window but the mountains she’d come to love. It was so unfair that something as ugly as murder could touch this beautiful place.

  A part of her wished she didn’t know. Ignorance was bliss, truly. But since she did know, she had to do something. If that meant parading around town on Lucky Santana’s arm, pretending to be in love, then that’s what she’d do. She just hoped she wouldn’t forget that it was all pretend.

  She delayed going to sleep, because she was afraid of the dreams that might come. Murder or Lucky? Violence and death or sexual fantasies? She knew which dream she’d prefer, but she wouldn’t have any choice in the matter. Whatever would come would c
ome. Since she had no choice but to sleep, all she could do was hope that tonight’s dreams would be good ones.

  In a way, she found comfort in Lucky’s theory about her abilities, even though it basically made her a human radio receiver that was tuned to the murderer channel. If there was a physical reason for her visions, she wouldn’t feel so much like a freak. If he was right, then she’d inherited a physical trait from her grandmother, not a freakish, inexplicable aberration. Not that anyone else would buy Lucky’s explanation.

  But she’d know.

  Today had been a good day. Her mind had remained quiet. Maybe last night’s nightmare vision had drained her abilities, for a while. She didn’t expect that would last. The dreams wouldn’t stop until they caught the killer, but the respite was nice.

  She crawled into the bed, and for a while she listened to Lucky move about the cabin. He probably wouldn’t go to sleep for hours. What had he been thinking to drink all that coffee so near to bedtime? He probably had all sorts of bad habits she didn’t know about. Not yet, anyway. They were living together, so eventually she’d get to see all of them.

  Annie gazed up at the fan above her bed, and for a moment—just one crazy moment—she wished for the rest of her vision to come true. She wanted Lucky hovering above her, holding her…inside her. She wanted everything. Sex for the sake of sex, a closeness that was much more than physical, a friend to reach for when the bad dreams came. What would Lucky say if she left the bed right now and asked him to sleep with her?

  He’d say yes, of course, and then she’d be lost. She wanted much more than he had to give.

  She closed her eyes, and headed toward sleep with the comforting thought that maybe the man who’d killed the Huffs had changed his mind about the happy couple he’d been watching and admiring lately, and had already moved on. Not to her and Lucky, but to another town. Another state.

  The thought was not so comforting when she reminded herself that if that happened before she and Lucky identified him, the psycho would kill again. She knew without doubt that he’d kill again, and he’d keep killing until he was caught. If she’d been given this ability for a reason, then she couldn’t wish the murderer away.

  Her life had been so blessedly simple before the dreams and Lucky Santana had made their appearances. Now, it was anything but.

  Chapter 7

  Early in the afternoon, Murphy and one of the new guys showed up to install the surveillance equipment—and to ask too damned many questions. Lucky didn’t tell them any more than he had to. He found himself in a tricky situation. A part of him believed in Annie and her abilities, but he had no proof. He had nothing concrete to take to the agency in order to request more men and more equipment. He had nothing that made any logical sense.

  Lucky Santana was all about logic, or at least he had been until coming here.

  With his work almost done, Murphy made the observation that the client was cute. The new guy agreed with an apelike grunt. Lucky chose not to respond to either.

  When the surveillance equipment—cameras and alarms at the perimeter of Annie’s property—was set up, Lucky sent Murphy and the new guy on their way and started making phone calls. He knew a lot of law-enforcement people in the Southeast, some of them well enough to approach unofficially. According to the file on the Huff case, the findings at the scene hadn’t given the investigators any reason to believe what had happened was anything other than a murder/suicide. True, the country investigators weren’t exactly a team of experts, but still…the killer hadn’t made any noticeable mistakes.

  Which meant that maybe he’d done this before.

  Lucky called a few old friends and acquaintances, and asked if they’d had any murder/suicides in the past couple of years that were in any way fishy. He hadn’t heard back from anyone yet. If they came to him with a case or cases that were similar, then what?

  Then things would really get ugly, that’s what. People higher up would have to be called if he had any evidence that there was a serial killer out there working undetected. If that happened, they’d want to know what had turned him on to these cases. Like it or not, it all came back to Annie. Even if he didn’t tell everything—and he wouldn’t have any choice in that matter—Cal knew how this investigation had started.

  He was worrying about something that might not happen. For now, all he had was a pretty girl, a few bad dreams and a suspicious case that had not been handled well by the locals.

  Annie hadn’t had any disturbing dreams in a couple of days. She seemed relieved not to be assaulted by the nightmares, but her serene nights didn’t help the case at all. No one had returned Lucky’s phone calls, the case file told him nothing and there was apparently no crime at all in Mercerville—much less murder.

  The weekend meant high visibility. If he was right and the murderer had at one point been in Annie’s immediate vicinity, and the psycho was currently tracking someone in Mercerville, then odds were he would see the new happy couple and be intrigued. Would it be enough to draw him in?

  This was a risk, a dangerous game, but Lucky didn’t doubt he could handle the man who’d murdered the Huffs. Trey Huff had not been prepared for violence; Lucky was always prepared.

  Friday night he and Annie had gone to dinner again, eating at a more casual restaurant this time. Saturday they’d spent the day downtown—part of the time in Annie’s shop, the rest of the time being as publicly affectionate as possible. At one point, while Annie had been deep in conversation with her manager, Lucky had made a quick run to the pharmacy two doors down. There he’d purchased a soft drink—and a few condoms. He didn’t think he’d have any use for the condoms, but the purchase was good for the image they were trying to present.

  On Sunday he took Annie to the park at the edge of town, where a large number of residents and tourists had gathered to watch the leaves change colors, picnic and toss various discs and balls around.

  They claimed a bench where they could see and be seen, and Lucky draped his arm familiarly over Annie’s shoulder.

  It was beginning to feel very natural, to hold her this way. He was even getting accustomed to her apparently vast collection of boots. Today she wore well-worn jeans, a T-shirt adorned with sequined flowers and soft brown, clunky boots. Since they were coming to the park and a suit wouldn’t do, he’d settled for khakis, a golf shirt and an ankle holster. Before they’d left the cabin, Annie had accused him—again—of dressing like her father. As usual, she’d tossed the accusation at him with a wide smile.

  “I never got the appeal of the whole autumn thing,” he said as his gaze raked the park for signs of suspicious behavior. He saw none. “Leaves change colors. They do it every year about this time, so what’s the big deal?”

  Annie laughed lightly, “You’re not exactly Nature Boy, are you?”

  “Nope. Give me the great indoors any day.”

  She relaxed, resting her head on his shoulder very casually and easily, and he had to remind himself that this was all make-believe. They weren’t romantically involved, she wasn’t his type, they weren’t “happy.” It was just for show that he raked his fingers through her hair.

  “Have you ever stood at the edge of a lake or an ocean, watched the sunlight sparkle there and been amazed?” she asked gently. “Have you ever stood beneath a night sky and marveled at the stars? To me, and to others I suppose, the changing leaves are like that. They’re beautiful in a way so well beyond what we recognize as beautiful that they take my breath away.”

  Lucky wasn’t big on admiring beauty, unless there was a female concerned. Now was probably not the time to make that observation.

  She straightened considerably and he dropped his hand from her hair, as a familiar couple approached. Kristie Bentley’s grin was insanely wide. Her husband, Stu, looked as if he were being dragged across the park. Lucky stood to greet the couple, and so did Annie. In order to make things look really good, Lucky took Annie’s hand in his and held on tight. A less observant man might’ve misse
d the gentle tremor of her fingers.

  “Hey, you two,” the perky brunette called as she drew near, her grin growing even wider. The way her eyes flitted from Lucky to Annie, it was clear that she definitely bought the two of them as a couple. Since Kristie knew Annie well, she was likely not alone in that respect. The ploy was working. “What are y’all doing this afternoon?”

  “Admiring the leaves,” Lucky said, and then he shrugged his shoulders slightly, telling anyone who cared to pay attention that he was here only to please his lady love.

  “It’s such a nice day,” Annie said. “We thought we’d, you know, get out of the cabin.”

  Where it was likely believed they’d been having wild monkey sex for days, now. What a shame that wasn’t true.

  “What are y’all doing Tuesday night?” Kristie asked. “You really should come down to the house and have supper with us. There’s a group staying with us for the week, and they’re making a trip to Gatlinburg on Tuesday. They won’t be back until late, so we won’t be at all busy.”

  Annie looked to Lucky, searching for a clue as to how she should answer.

  “Honey,” Stu said in a low, calm voice as he draped his arm over his wife’s shoulder, “I’m sure they have other things to do besides—”

  “Oh, they do not,” Kristie interrupted, leaning into her husband in a familiar way. “Everyone has to eat. They might as well eat with us.”

  Annie was obviously hesitant to answer. Maybe she was afraid the charade they were pulling off in public would be much more difficult with a friend. Maybe she’d feel like she had to tell Kristie and Stu the truth, if they spent any significant amount of time together. He’d disabuse her of that notion later, just in case her mind had headed in that direction.

  Again, Annie looked at him with that questioning expression on her face. To anyone watching, that glance would look very intimate, when in truth it was all business.