Assignment: Marriage

by Jackie Merritt

  There was only one gratifying aspect to the bizarre episode: Tuck Hannigan was human after all.

  Though Tuck was tired and also went to bed early, he found himself lying there unable to relax. He had already dismissed that kiss; it had been an unexpected mistake and wasn’t going to be repeated.

  But unnerving questions about himself kept him awake. Was he being overly cautious with Nicole’s safety? Were his instincts working with the same fine precision that they used to? Was he spooked unnecessarily over that white sports car?

  He had changed since those convenience-store killings; was he even a good cop now? But if he wasn’t a cop, what was he?

  Restless, he got up and wandered through the dark cabin to peer out each of its windows—except for the one in Nicole’s room. He had left two lights burning, the one next to the back door and the one that illuminated the front porch. He was positive that Joe Crawford believed he had sent his witness to a place of safety, but it would be a simple matter for someone to approach the cabin via the lake. Joe probably hadn’t considered that possibility because he was so certain of the secrecy of his plan.

  Tuck wasn’t that certain, but he didn’t trust his imagination not to play tricks on him. He smirked. What he used to call instinct now felt like imagination. Great, just great.

  His eyes narrowed in speculation. Maybe he should take Nicole and get the hell out of here, go somewhere where no one, not even Crawford, would know where they were.

  But wouldn’t that be overkill? Was he afraid he couldn’t handle a couple of thugs if they should suddenly appear? Maybe that was it. Maybe he was afraid now.

  His lips tightened into a thin, grim line. He had to prove himself to himself. If he ran now, he may as well keep on running, because his career in law enforcement would be over.

  He went back to bed, determined to see this through and to protect Nicole at any cost to himself. He was still a cop, dammit, and this job was going to prove it.

  Nicole awoke in the morning to the sound of rain. It was a lulling, soothing, almost musical sound, and she snuggled deeper into her blankets. Her home in Las Vegas had a tile roof and a two-foot crawl space filled with insulation against the grueling heat of Vegas summers. When it rained in southern Nevada—very seldom—she couldn’t hear it in the house. This was lovely, lying cozily in bed with the pattering of raindrops on the roof.

  Without cause or reason, her thoughts jumped from rain to that kiss Hannigan had taken last evening. Taken or given. It was difficult to decide whether he’d taken or given when she had kissed him back with such fervor. Why had she kissed him back? Certainly she wasn’t accustomed to kissing men she didn’t like. This whole awful episode was turning her into someone else, a woman she neither knew nor understood.

  Reality gradually destroyed her good mood and she threw back the blankets and got up with a disgusted grimace. No more kissing, she vowed, which she would be more than happy to tell Mr. Stiff-Necked Hannigan should he try something again.

  After showering and dressing, she made her bed and left her room. The cabin was silent, feeling eerily vacant. She took a breath, ridiculing the sudden fear she felt. Hannigan wouldn’t leave without telling her where he was going and when he’d be back. He was probably outside somewhere, dutifully standing guard or performing some other cop activity. She wasn’t denigrating his devotion to duty, she merely didn’t understand the man who’d taken the job of protecting her.

  Sighing, she peered into the kitchen and spotted the pot of coffee on the counter. Pouring herself a cup, she wandered into the main room and then stopped dead in her tracks. Tuck was standing to the side of the window, furtively looking through a pair of binoculars toward the lake.

  “Now what?” she asked with rising panic in her voice. “Is someone out there?”

  Tuck lowered the binoculars and turned to see her. She looked as fresh as the morning dew, striking in white slacks and a navy top, with her short hair still damp from the shower, and makeup on her pretty face.

  He’d been watching a fisherman who had anchored his small boat about a hundred feet from shore. He’d seen the man—he thought it was a man, though with all the rain gear covering his body and head, he couldn’t be positive—prepare his fishing line and drop it into the water. It all looked as innocent as a newborn babe, and yet Tuck had to question why the person had chosen that particular spot to do his fishing.

  “Just a fisherman,” he said evenly.

  “He’s fishing in the rain?” Nicole started for the window to see the scene for herself.

  “Stay back,” Tuck said gruffly. “If we can see him, he can see us.”

  “Is he using binoculars, too?” Nicole asked, her voice underlaid with sarcasm. Even accepting Hannigan’s role here, it was irritating to be constantly harangued about one thing or another. He’d been looking out the window. Why couldn’t she?

  “I haven’t seen any,” Tuck admitted brusquely. “But he’s been out there since dawn.” What bothered him most was that he couldn’t tell if he’d been watching a slightly built man or a woman. “Come around that chair and take a look.”

  Detouring around the chair would keep her out of sight should anyone be watching the window, Nicole had to acknowledge, albeit resentfully. Since she didn’t really resent Hannigan as a cop, she must resent him as a man, she thought while setting her coffee on a table and following his instructions to reach his side. He handed her the binoculars and stepped back.

  “Stand exactly where I was,” he told her. “You’ll be able to see him without him seeing you.”

  Frowning, Nicole brought the binoculars to her eyes and adjusted the focus. “I see him.”

  “Is it a man or a woman in that boat?”

  Her frown deepened. “He’s so covered up with that rain coat and hat, I can’t really tell.” Lowering the binoculars, she looked at Tuck. “Why do you think it’s a woman?”

  “Women fish, don’t they?”

  “I suppose they do, but it’s raining.”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Well, I might fish, but I certainly wouldn’t do it in the rain.”

  “Nicole,” Tuck said impatiently, “there are people who believe fish take the hook better when it’s raining.”

  “Oh. Well, how would I know that?” She handed him the binoculars. “I think you’re making a mountain out of a mole hill. So there’s a person out there fishing? So what?”

  “Why is he—or she—anchored right in front of this place?” Tuck muttered, taking another look through the binoculars. Not once since he’d first noticed the boat had the person in it turned enough for him to see his or her face. That in itself seemed suspicious.

  “Why don’t you just close the darn drapes and forget it?” Nicole said. “I’m hungry. Have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  “I’m going to make breakfast.” Darting around the chair to keep Hannigan happy, she picked up her cup of coffee and left the room shaking her head. Protectiveness was one thing, obsession was something else. The poor guy—or gal—out there in that boat had no idea a steely-eyed, overly suspicious cop was watching his every move. What on earth could be more innocent than fishing? So what if the person had anchored his boat in front of the Mathison cabin? Maybe that was a good fishing spot. Maybe he or she had caught lots of fish in that spot on rainy days.

  What really irked her was that last night Hannigan had gone down to the lake and she had located him by looking through the very window he’d chased her back from this morning. Obviously he was getting even more picky and demanding than he’d been, which seemed almost impossible considering his bossy attitude during that miserably long and exhausting drive to get here.

  Well, at least she could look out the kitchen window, she thought while rinsing her cup at the sink to use again with breakfast. Glancing out just to prove she could, her heart nearly stopped. Walking up to the back door was a man.

  She ran from the kitchen and stood just inside the m
ain room with her back to the wall next to the doorway. “Tuck,” she whispered. “Hannigan,” she said louder when it became obvious that he hadn’t heard her.

  He lowered the binoculars and turned with a scowl. “What?”

  “There’s a man—” The sudden rapping at the back door eliminated further need for explanation.

  Tuck came around the chair with an expression so cold and forbidding, Nicole shivered. “Stay in here,” he ordered, and all but ran to his bedroom for his gun, which he shoved into his jeans at the back of his waist. The man had knocked a second time before Tuck finally opened the door.

  The man, wearing a bright red rain jacket and hat, had a grin a yard wide. “I’m your neighbor, Jim Tripp. Live right over there.” He pointed to the log house Tuck could see in the trees.

  “Uh…Tom King.” Tuck offered his hand, which Mr. Tripp, an elderly man, heartily shook.

  “You and the missus here on vacation?”

  Tuck nodded. “A long vacation, we hope.”

  “Glad to hear it. Pete Mathison hardly uses the place. Be good to have some neighbors for the summer.”

  Tuck could tell that Mr. Tripp was just itching for an invitation to come inside, meet the “missus,” and probably sit around and chat all morning. Under ordinary circumstances, Tuck would have welcomed the chance to make friends with this congenial older man.

  But circumstances weren’t at all ordinary. “Jim, I’d ask you in but my wife isn’t feeling well.”

  Mr. Tripp’s face took on a somber cast. “That’s too bad, Tom. Tell her I’m real sorry I missed meeting her this morning. Another time, all right?”

  “Yes,” Tuck agreed. “Thanks for coming by.” As Jim Tripp walked away, Tuck called, “Is there a Mrs. Tripp?”

  Jim stopped to smile. “Sure is. Let’s all get together for dinner some evening. After this rain lets up we’ll have a little barbecue at my place. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds fine, Jim, but with Cheryl not feeling well, I can’t make any definite plans.”

  Mr. Tripp’s expression again sobered. “Hope it’s nothing serious, Tom.”

  Inspiration hit Tuck. What better excuse could he find to avoid friendly people than his “wife” being laid up for an indefinite period? He spoke solemnly. “She had an operation about a month ago, Jim, and recuperation is going to take time. The doctor said quite a lot of time, to be honest.”

  “I understand, young man. Well, take good care of her. Let us know if you need anything. We’re almost always at home.”

  “Thanks, Jim. I appreciate it.”

  Tuck closed the door, then watched at the window until Mr. Tripp had gained the trees separating the two cabins. Nicole came around the door. “An operation?” she drawled with heavy sarcasm.

  “It’s a good idea, so don’t knock it. I don’t want us eating barbecue with the neighbors and one of us saying something to ruin our cover.”

  “You’re talking about me. Certainly you would never forget yourself and do something so unforgivable.”

  “I’m talking about both of us.”

  “Yeah, right,” Nicole drawled.

  Obviously Hannigan was going to be her only companion during this godawful fiasco. That man, Mr. Tripp, had sounded pleasant and sincere. He wasn’t a spy for Lowicki or a hit man sent from Las Vegas to shut her mouth for good. Hannigan was overdoing the protection bit, and she was no more than a prisoner. His prisoner.

  Angry and resentful, she began opening and then slamming cupboard doors shut after pulling out items for their breakfast. It was then that she noticed the gun stuck in Hannigan’s jeans.

  “What were you planning to do, shoot the man for being neighborly?” she asked in a voice dripping icicles.

  Sending her a look of utter disgust, Tuck walked out of the room, leaving Nicole to simmer and stew by herself.

  “Damned woman,” he muttered while returning the gun to the drawer of his nightstand. Remembering the fisherman, he bolted to the living room and his former position next to the window.

  The boat was gone. Tuck cursed under his breath. He had wanted to see in which direction that fisherman went when he got tired of sitting out there in the drizzle. Giving the drapery pull a yank to cover the window, Tuck thought resentfully that now Miss Smartass Currie could wander the room at will.

  She was a real pain in the…neck.

  * * *

  To be factual, Nicole had never before been alone in a house with a man she didn’t like and enjoy being with. As the day dragged and the rain didn’t stop—she couldn’t leave even if it had because of Hannigan’s watchful eye—and they barely spoke to each other, she had nothing to do except wander from room to room and wish she were anywhere but here, locked in with a fanatic cop who thought that even friendship with a nice old guy like Jim Tripp was a cardinal sin. Her patience kept getting thinner and thinner until she felt ready to explode.

  “Can’t you light somewhere?” Tuck grumbled when she’d passed his chair for about the twentieth time.

  She stopped pacing to glare at him. “I’m doing nothing that should bother you, so don’t bother me, okay?”

  Tuck heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Look, this thing has just begun. We’re going to be here for God knows how long. Didn’t you bring along anything to read? Or why don’t you turn on the TV set and watch something? Just stop that infernal pacing.”

  “How nice for you that you can plop into a chair and do nothing for hours on end. I’m not made that way, Hannigan. I’m accustomed to activity, to responsibility, to conversation. Normal conversation, I might add. You know what that is, don’t you? When two people talk? When one introduces a topic and the other responds? It’s probably happened once or twice in your life, painful as it undoubtedly was for you.”

  “You don’t want to talk, you want to fight.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s precisely the sort of answer I expected to hear from you. Hannigan, is it the job, me, or women in general you dislike so much?”

  He got to his feet. “To tell you the truth, lady, I’m not overly fond of any of your choices.”

  For some reason she felt hurt. “Well, that goes double for me about you!” Whirling, she went to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

  It was Tuck’s turn to pace. Weeks of this would have them both climbing the walls. Why had Joe described this job as “cushy”? Had he figured Idaho would be so safe they could take advantage of the recreation in and around Coeur d’Alene? Actually enjoy the area and all it had to offer? If this was an ordinary situation and they were an ordinary couple on vacation, they could play golf, take their pick of the city’s numerous restaurants, rent a boat and explore the lake, even take in some of the nightlife.

  Tuck rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. He’d bet anything that was what had been in Joe’s mind. Though Joe had said the job would consist only of keeping the witness company, there was a whole lot more to it. From the very start Nicole had been resistant and resentful; keeping her cooped up as he had today was making her even more resentful.

  After a few more minutes of thinking it over, Tuck went down the hall and knocked at her door. “Come on out. We’re going for a drive.”

  Her door opened. “A drive where?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Nowhere in particular. Just a drive.”

  “You’re not hot on the trail of a clue or something?”

  He looked disgusted. “No, I’m not hot on the trail of anything. Do you want to take a ride or not?”

  “Let me get my purse.” During their long trip to reach this place, she couldn’t possibly have imagined a ride anywhere as entertainment, but anything looked good today. Dashing to the dresser, she grabbed her purse and returned to the door of her room. “I’m ready.”

  Tuck led the way through the cabin and made sure the back door was locked behind them. Nicole gratefully inhaled the fresh, damp air. The rain had stopped and a feeble sun was breaking through the clouds. But it felt so good to be outside,
she wouldn’t have cared if rain was pouring down in sheets.

  Settled in the car with Tuck at the wheel, as usual, they drove away. Nicole immediately began to feel better. She was so used to being on the go at home that confinement and immobility felt a lot like being shackled. Though the sun wouldn’t be out for long because of the late afternoon hour, it felt wonderful to be driving through some of the most beautiful scenery she’d ever seen.

  “Are the winters harsh in this area?” she asked.

  “Why? Thinking of moving to Idaho?”

  “Well, you have to admit it’s a beautiful place.”

  “Yes, it’s beautiful, and yes, the winters are harsh.”

  “Harsh as in what? Cold temperatures? Snow?”

  “Both. Nicole, Coeur d’Alene’s only a few hundred miles south of the Canadian line. Maybe not even that far. And you don’t get greenery like this without moisture—lots of rain and snow. When I was here before, I talked to a guy who told me that there are years when the lake freezes completely over. He said it hadn’t happened in a while, but he remembered when it did. That indicates not just cold temperatures, but long spells of freezing weather.”

  Nicole sighed. “Well, it’s sure pretty in the summer.”

  “Yeah, and Las Vegas is sure pretty in the winter. Just depends on what you dislike more, cold winters or hot summers. Me, I’ll take the hot summers. Never did like snow and ice.”

  They were just reaching the outskirts of the city when Tuck remembered that he’d left his gun behind. For a moment he was actually stunned. His negligence was going to cut this drive short, he thought with a frown. Now he was getting forgetful? God, would he ever return to normal?

  A glance at Nicole put another knot in his gut. An immediate return to the cabin would drop her back into the doldrums. She seemed to be enjoying this outing as though it were something special. For some reason he didn’t want to disappoint her.