Charmed and Dangerous

by Toni McGee Causey

  It was so many kinds of wrong, Bobbie Faye’s scalp buzzed. In fact, everything about it triggered warning signals within her, with the shining exception of there being several boats tied up at the end of the pier.

  The long pier.

  The long pier which seemed to be guarded by a rather disgruntled-looking guy. Meandering back and forth near the fishing camp. At which no one seemed to be fishing, but an awful lot of bustling about seemed to be occurring.

  Yes, everything inside Bobbie Faye knew this was a Bad Thing in every way possible.

  “Why are we hiding?” she whispered. “I thought you said you knew this guy and we could borrow his boat.”

  “Technically, the guy I said I knew was the one who worked at the marina. I said I knew of a guy with a boat close to where we were.”

  They watched in silence as the scowling man moved around the main building of the camp, out of their sight. Bobbie Faye checked Trevor’s expression, and found him grim, tense.

  “Why do I have a really bad feeling about this?”

  “Because we’re about to do something very very stupid.”

  Together they headed to one of the outbuildings, something she assumed was a small toolshed. Before Bobbie Faye could ask him what they were doing there instead of getting a boat, Trevor picked the locks of the shed with a little too much ease. He hustled her inside and shut the door, and when her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering in through the barred windows, she nearly yelped.

  It was gun central.

  A horrible sense of dread spread through her chest and radiated outward, making her arms feel weak as noodles. Trevor busied himself picking out a couple of guns, knives, ropes, and other random supplies Bobbie Faye couldn’t identify. He shoved his selections into one of the many satchels hanging there.

  “Holy freaking geez,” she said, when she could finally speak. “We’re robbing gunrunners!”

  That last word squeaked out in a too-high register and Trevor clamped his hand over her mouth.

  “One of their guards is a . . . source, for lack of a better word. And they prefer to be called ‘Inventory Experts for Aggression Control.’ Besides, who are you to cast stones, Ms. Bank Robber?”

  She tried to exclaim that she did not rob the fucking bank, but Trevor had wisely kept his hand clamped over her mouth. He held her there for a moment until, she assumed, he was certain she wasn’t going to rouse the suspicions of the guard outside. It was in that moment she caught the gleam in his eye and the way there was a smile tipping at the corners of his very sexy (damn him) mouth. He seemed to be having fun.

  This was so beyond not a good thing, Bobbie Faye wasn’t even sure how to rank it on a scale of oh shit to holy fuck. What kind of psycho had she kidnapped? What in the hell was his motive?

  Trevor turned back to his task, loading a Glock. He started to shove it into her hands, then hesitated a moment with a bit of a grin, and said, “Aim the noisy end at other people this time, okay?”

  “Are you nuts? The geeky boys we’re going after would be scared of fly swatters.”

  “The people holding your brother . . . aren’t.”

  He had a point. Dammit. She held the Glock in her hand, balancing the weight of it. If she had to think about it at that moment, she wasn’t sure what felt more surreal to her: the fact that she was standing in (no, make that robbing) a gunrunner’s shed, or the fact that her so-called hostage apparently liked to color so far outside the lines, she doubted he even knew there were lines.

  She liked that so immensely, she had to sit down. It was a bad thing, she reminded herself. A very bad thing.

  Cam had always been all about coloring inside the lines when it came to this sort of thing. She’d liked the honor of that, the safety of that. That honor was dead sexy in its own way. But this . . . God help her, was intoxicating. It made her forget everything, including her own rules. It made her want to, oh, holy Mary, trust him. (Well, among other things.)

  She’d promised herself, never ever again. The minute, the microsecond, you start depending on someone, they leave you with the credit card bill for tips for Mimi down at the Strip & Stare club (and damn, but Mimi makes good tips), or they forget to mention that they’re kinda sorta an overachieving criminal wanted by every branch of the government. Or, they seem to be your very best friend in the world, and then they go and arrest your sister and destroy your life. Even with Ce Ce and Nina, she kept her promise to herself: stay self-sufficient. Don’t ask for much, try to give back more than you ask, and whatever the hell you do, just don’t fucking need.

  She’d started letting herself make Cam an exception, and look where that got her. No. She watched Trevor as he completed his tasks, clearly way-the-hell more familiar with all of the arms in the shed than any ordinary guy ought to be. A normal guy who’d been taken hostage for something this crazy probably would have let her drown in the truck. Or turned her in at the lake. They definitely would have split along about the time the bear was making out a morning menu. So this guy? Had to have some sort of ulterior motive. And the fact that right now she needed his help? Just pissed her the fuck off. It did not matter that the biceps were a-flexing and the back was well-toned and the ass, well damn, that was a thing of beauty. Did. Not. Matter.

  She looked down at the gun again, remembering what the hell she needed Trevor for, and cursed under her breath. She couldn’t ditch him just yet and get away from all of those muscles and the abs and the crinkly eyes, holy geez. She had to focus until they safely found the geeky boys and the tiara.

  He turned at that moment and saw her sitting on a crate, staring at him. “You okay?” he asked, squatting on his heels, bringing himself blue-crystal-eye level to her, looking sincerely worried.

  The bastard.

  “Yeah, I’m just having a little girl-time here, rethinking my choice in nail color,” she snapped, and instead of snapping back, he grinned. He fucking grinned at her, that big-cat-stalking-its-prey sort of grin, making her very very nervous.

  “Cut it out.” He only grinned bigger. “I thought we had an agreement going here. You hate all women, I hate you.”

  “I think I’m making an exception in your case.”

  “Well I’m not.”

  He looked her up and down, and her skin flamed hot, and his smile grew more wicked.

  “Oh, I think you are.”

  She started to retort as he turned away, but there was an internal war going on, with Lust (which had not been out to play in a long long time) beating the hell out of Common Sense, and she could feel certain body parts placing bets. She opted for ignoring him because she didn’t think “nuh uh” was a very convincing comeback.

  Trevor opened the doorway a crack and watched a moment until he was satisfied it was clear to leave. They eased down the pier toward the boats tied at the end when the first scowling guard came out of the house. Bobbie Faye knew they were in plain sight, but the guy acted as if he didn’t see them, which was just phenomenally odd. As she was contemplating this, a second man walked around the corner of the house and the first guy seemed to be trying to wave away a mosquito or something. Or maybe he was trying to indicate they should get moving.

  “Sonofabitch,” Trevor muttered. “Head for the white boat at the end.”

  “You mean the Triton 5220?” she asked, which surprised him enough for him to turn to her with a blank, shocked expression. “What? Girls can know boats.”

  He didn’t get a chance to answer. Bobbie Faye thought she heard a firecracker pop and then bam, something hit the pier not far behind them, and they both looked in the direction of the house in time to see the two guards running in their direction, the second one definitely sporting a gun.

  Bobbie Faye was pretty sure that if she’d read her horoscope that morning, it would have said something like, “Today the universe hates you. A lot. A whole freaking Grand Canyon lot of hate. Stay in bed. Better yet, dig a hole, hide.”

  She hauled ass down the pier with Trevor right behi
nd her. They passed a glassed-in Peg-Board set up where all of the keys to the boats were stored, and Bobbie Faye jumped into the boat as Trevor slammed the butt of his SIG Sauer against the glass, shattering it, all while trying to hide his frame behind the skinny wooden stand as the running guards shot at them.

  “They’re not labeled,” he shouted, and then turned to her, shocked again when the engine revved. She’d hot-wired it.

  “What is the deal with you being pokey? Get in!”

  She ducked down as a couple of the bullets ricocheted a little too close, then aimed at the tie rope binding them to the pier and in one clean shot, severed it.

  A bullet splintered the key Peg-Board and Trevor turned and kicked the board into the lake. He leapt into her boat, rocking it hard, and she fell on her ass.

  “Geez, you have all the grace of a bull jumping rope,” she grumbled. “Cover me.”

  “What?” he said, firing at the guards, forcing them to stop and take cover. “We don’t have time—”

  She ignored him, jumping from boat to boat for a few seconds each, yanking the plug wires, disabling the motors.

  “Okay, maybe that was smart,” he allowed, and she glared at him.

  She throttled up their boat and Trevor kept firing on the guards as she backed it out and raced out of the somewhat hidden inlet and into the vast spread of Lake Charles.

  “Head over for that canal,” Trevor shouted above the roar of the Mercury motor as the boat skipped across the waves of the lake and the wind and water spray slammed the words into oblivion.

  “Sure, oh Supreme Commander of the Universe,” she grumbled, but turned the boat in the direction he’d pointed.

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Riiiiiiggght. Getting us chased by gunrunners on top of everything else. Genius. Why the hell didn’t I think of that?”

  “At least I have a plan.”

  Trevor started opening all of the various doors and storage areas on the boat.

  “Well, Mr. ‘I have a plan,’ if you were so flipping smart, you’d have figured out that we could use a cell phone right about—”

  Trevor straightened up from where he’d been digging and held up a cell phone.

  “If I didn’t hate you, I’d be real impressed right now.”

  “These types always keep spares activated for emergencies.”

  “How the hell do you know that?”

  “You could say I’m in the . . . procurement business.”

  He dialed the phone while she wondered for the millionth time why God hated her.

  “Andre?” he asked as his call connected. “What have you got on the pencil necks I told you to watch for?” He listened intently, scanning the lake’s opposite shore. Bobbie Faye watched him as his expression grew grim.

  “It’s not good,” he said, finally hanging up. “Andre was on their tail, but he lost them. Last he saw, they went this way. That’s where he found their boat. Empty.”

  Empty. Her brain kept saying the word over and over and wasn’t it weird how a perfectly normal word could sound like a jumble of consonants and vowels, marking nothing, making no sense, once it’s said repeatedly. Empty. Meaning, they could be anywhere by now, with the one thing she needed to save Roy’s life. How in the hell could she find them? He must’ve still been talking to her, though she couldn’t hear him above the roar of the motor. She wasn’t sure if the wet she felt on her face was the overspray from the boat or tears, and it didn’t much matter.

  “Are you listening?” Trevor asked, for probably the second or third time, she surmised. She nodded. “They’re probably holed up in a camp somewhere. They’d be crazy to try to head out since there’s only a couple of roads on that side of the lake leading out, and I’m sure the cops have them blocked by now. We’ll go camp to camp. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, we’ll find them.”

  She nodded, and at that moment, she heard the worst thing she could have heard. Motorboats racing toward them. She and Trevor peered back toward the shore of the lake where they’d just been moments before. Three of the boats Bobbie Faye had tried to disable raced out of the inlet where the camp was hidden and headed their direction. Fast.

  She’d run out of time.

  Nineteen

  I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t actually sell insurance to protect the public from Bobbie Faye. No sir, not even if you cry.

  —insurance agent Barbara Vierck, to a customer

  “Ya’ll keep up the chanting, now,” Ce Ce chimed, weaving through the aisles. She’d commandeered several of the customers and placed them at strategic points in the matrix she’d made of crystals to help boost the positive energy flow. “Bobbie Faye, will be safe. Bobbie Faye, will be safe,” every customer intoned with her, even macho Maven, who, Ce Ce noted, had positioned himself nearest the gun case so he could shop while he chanted.

  “Miss Rabalais? Honey, you want to sit on this box here so you don’t have to stand very long?”

  The frail eighty-year-old peered through her bottle-thick glasses, slid halfway down her tiny nub nose.

  “You think it’ll take very long?”

  “I don’t know, honey. This is a full-out Bobbie Faye event, you know.”

  “Oh, dear. One of those? Again? She blow up anything yet?”

  “Now, now, Miss Rabalais. We’re going to think positive, okay?”

  “Oh, okay. I am positive she’s going to blow up something.”

  “Seriously, Miss Rabalais, she’s going to be safe. Can you hear what everyone’s chanting? Now, honey, you chant along.”

  The old woman motioned for Ce Ce to lean closer, and she whispered, “Is this matrix doohickey we’re doing supposed to make you feel . . .” she looked around to make sure no one could hear her, “. . . um, energetic?”

  “Energetic?”

  The old woman blushed a little. “Yes. You know. Tingly.”

  Miss Rabalais averted her eyes as Ce Ce scanned the people who were chanting. They did seem to have a bit more color to their cheeks, more smiles. She patted Miss Rabalais on the shoulder.

  “It’s possible that’s a side effect.”

  “Then,” the old woman said, tugging Ce Ce even closer, “can we do this every week?”

  “Honey, I’m not sure this town could handle everyone being all . . . tingly every week.”

  “Oh, you never know,” Miss Rabalais said. “Could solve world peace.”

  Ce Ce nodded, a little worried over Miss Rabalais’s enthusiasm. They’d just set up the matrix, and if it was this strong, it could definitely help Bobbie Faye, but Ce Ce was starting to worry about what she was going to do with fifty horny customers.

  Of course, it was the crystals magnifying the energy. Well, good. Maybe, just maybe, this would help end everything for Bobbie Faye in a safe, quiet, peaceful way.

  Just about the time she’d gotten everyone situated, and the chanting going in a nice four/four rhythm, she glanced up at the TV in the corner. The news switched to a view of Nina backed up against Bobbie Faye’s trailer, whip ready. The crowd had grown to gawk (and party), but what worried Ce Ce more was the two pickup trucks which appeared to be attached via winch cables to the trailer. There were two clearly overwhelmed deputy sheriffs keeping onlookers from driving into the trailer park and parking all over everyone’s lawns. Ce Ce supposed pretty much every other officer was out on the manhunt, chasing Bobbie Faye.

  She quickly dialed Nina and watched on TV as Nina answered her cell phone.

  “Honey girl, am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”

  “Yep,” Nina said, cracking her whip. “The odds on the betting got so high against them, Claude and Jemy decided they could make a bundle if they could prove the betters wrong. I can only do so much with my whip. And with live TV, I can’t pull out any bigger arsenal.”

  “Can’t that whip thing puncture a tire with a really good crack at it?”

  “I tried. Have you seen those tires? They’re off-road, which makes them a lot stronger
than your basic wheels. I gotta go, Ceece. I’ve got pilferers.”

  Nina hung up and Ce Ce watched the aerial coverage on the TV as Nina cracked her whip again to disperse would-be thieves (one man of a particularly large nature holding up one of Bobbie Faye’s pieces of lingerie—a satin teddy—as if trying to judge whether or not it would fit him). Meanwhile, the two four-wheel-drive trucks attempted to use their winch cables to pull the trailer back to an upright position.

  It was clearly not working.

  “Monique,” Ce Ce called, and the redhead waddled toward her, her freckles a calm pale pink. “I need the jar on top of the green cabinet back there.”

  “The one with the red wormy-looking things?”

  “Yep, that’s the one. It’ll help increase the positive flow, and I think we’re gonna need it.”

  “You ever planning to tell me what those things are?”

  “Honey, you don’t want to know. Just trust me on this.”

  Monique nodded and hurried to the back to get the jar.

  Bobbie Faye throttled the motor to its maximum speed and kept rubbernecking back at the other boats.

  They were gaining.

  Trevor was making another call when the motor sputtered and spit and backfired. Apparently, the boat had not read the “escapee contract,” obliging it to work perfectly.

  They heard gunfire, coming from the gunrunners. The bullets fell short, but at the rate Trevor and Bobbie Faye’s boat was slowing down, that was only a temporary reprieve.

  Trevor snapped the cell phone closed.

  “Hey Mr. ‘I have a plan.’ In case I don’t live to tell you? Your plan sucks.”

  He ignored her as he jumped to the controls and then to check the fuel line. Bobbie Faye opened the electrical panels.

  “Don’t touch anything!” he commanded, and Bobbie Faye hmphed.