“Well, lookee there,” Wynne said softly as they rounded the honeysuckle hedge. He nodded in the direction of the parked cars.
Maddie was bent over, scooping up her abandoned shoes—what with the rain and the mud, they were never going to be the same again—but something about the tone of his voice made her look up instantly. Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath of soggy, sweet-smelling air.
There was Zelda by the Camry, scarfing up french fries that must have spilled to the pavement when Maddie had exited the car so vigorously.
Zelda, Maddie almost cried, but, remembering how Zelda had responded to being called by name before, she swallowed the impulse, freezing in place instead so as not to startle her. The men behind Maddie nearly bumped into her before they, too, got with the program and stopped.
“Shit. Here we go again.” Maddie could tell by the disgusted tone of McCabe’s voice that he, too, was looking at Zelda. His next words were growled in her ear. “Leave it to us this time, okay? We’ll get the damned dog for you.” Then, slightly louder, he added, “Wynne, you take Maddie on inside.”
“Will do.”
Wynne’s hand tightened around Maddie’s wrist, but he needn’t have bothered. Being at the edge of her parking lot had made her remember how she had been shot, and remembering how she had been shot made her glance nervously all around and want to run for the hills. If three big, bad FBI men couldn’t capture one little dog, the country was in more trouble even than she was, was how Maddie figured it. So as Wynne started moving, she went with him without protest, contenting herself with watching over her shoulder as Gomez and Hendricks, after a hasty consultation with McCabe, crept around behind the Camry. There was no way to be certain, of course, but she guessed that once they were in position somebody would give a signal and the three of them would close in on Zelda, who was still stuffing her face.
Unfortunately, if she was putting money down on the outcome, she’d have to put it on Zelda.
On that happy thought, they reached the door and Wynne ushered her inside. The house was dimly lit and quiet, as it generally tended to be, given the nearly soundproof 1920s construction, plus the work schedules and dispositions of the tenants. The doors on either side of the grand oak stairway that led to the second and third floors were both closed. Maddie trudged upward, her feet in their now-shredded pantyhose slippery on the stairs, her ears keenly attuned to any sounds she might be able to hear from the parking lot. Still in his navy jacket and khakis but now looking a great deal the worse for wear, Wynne huffed behind her, one hand on the banister, leaving a trail of damp footprints in his wake. At the sound of footsteps above them, Maddie glanced up to see June Matthews coming along the second-floor hall toward the stairs. Carrying a folded umbrella and wearing a lightweight black raincoat and heels, she was clearly on her way somewhere. Her face changed as Maddie and then Wynne reached the second-floor landing and she got a good look at them.
“Hey, June,” Maddie said.
“Is everything all right?” June asked in a wary tone, pausing with one hand on the newel post to watch as they headed on up toward the third floor.
Maddie glanced back at her, saw her knit brows, and realized in that split second how the situation must appear: herself wet, disheveled, and shoeless, sporting huge runs in her pantyhose and a scowl to boot, with a huge and equally wet and disheveled man right behind her, clearly following her upstairs to her apartment.
“Everything’s fine, but thanks for asking,” she said, summoning a would-be cheery smile. Wynne, who had looked around when June spoke, smiled too, showing large, even white teeth. Coupled with that cherub thing he had going on, the smile must have done the trick, because June relaxed and continued on her way. Then Maddie and Wynne reached Maddie’s apartment, and he followed her inside.
The apartment was dark except for the dim glow of the outside halogen spilling in through the windows. Maddie started automatically for the curtains—closing them before she turned on the lights was what she had in mind—when a series of shrill beeps penetrated her consciousness, stopping her in her tracks just a couple steps into the room. Her eyes widened. Her immediate thought was bomb.
“What ... what ... ?” she sputtered, even as her eyes flew to Wynne and she realized that he didn’t look the least bit perturbed. Either he was deaf, or there was something she was missing here.
“Security system. McCabe had it installed this afternoon. Because we’re kind of shorthanded now, you know.” He turned to a keypad by her front door that was a new addition to the wall decor and punched in numbers. As Maddie goggled, the beeps stopped. “Your code is the last four digits of your phone number, by the way. Or you can change it if you want.”
“Did anybody ask me ...” Maddie began hotly. Then her voice petered out as it occurred to her that under the circumstances a security system was probably an excellent thing to have. She finished in a milder tone. “I’m glad I didn’t come home alone.”
And proceeded across the room to close the curtains.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be alone right now. I think that’s the point.” Wynne flipped the switch that turned on the lights. “You know, you really shouldn’t’ve took off like that out there. It could have been dangerous.”
“Don’t you start, too.” Having closed the curtains, Maddie turned to scowl at him, realized that he was dripping all over her hardwood floor, and crossed to the bathroom, from which she extracted a towel. “Here.” She threw it to him.
“Thanks.” He started toweling off. Maddie watched critically. He was such a big man. She tossed him another towel.
“When you disappeared into the dark like that, I gotta tell you, you scared us.” Wynne looked up from vigorously rubbing his head to fix her with reproving blue eyes. Wet and woolly now, his hair puffed out like golden dandelion fluff around his head. “McCabe about went ape-shit. He was out the door before I even got the car stopped. He’s probably still going to be a little ticked off when he gets up here.”
Wynne sounded like he was warning her.
“Good for him,” Maddie said, unimpressed. She’d shed her jacket and the bulletproof vest by this time, and was standing just inside the bathroom door and rubbing her hair with a towel, too. The area that had been covered by the vest was relatively dry. The rest of her was pretty much soaked through. It showed just how wet she was that the air-conditioning, for just about the only time in her experience of it, actually felt cold. She could feel the chill as it blew over her skin.
“Especially considering how he got chased by the dog and all,” Wynne added in a reminiscent tone. Their eyes met. Wynne grinned.
A vibrating sound made Wynne lose the grin. Reaching under his jacket, he unclipped something from his belt. Maddie saw that it was a two-way radio.
“Yeah,” Wynne said into it.
“Damn dog took off again.” Maddie could hear McCabe’s growling voice clearly. “Looks like we’re going to be out here a little while longer.”
“Okay.” The calm professionalism of his voice in no way reflected Wynne’s new and wider grin.
The Brehmer account hung in the balance, and Maddie knew it. But she couldn’t help it. She grinned, too.
Chalk one up for Zelda.
“They’ll get her,” Wynne assured her, clipping the radio back on his belt again, then shedding his jacket, which he carefully draped over the back of the floral chair. Beneath it, he was almost dry.
Maddie could only hope he was right. But since there was nothing she could do about it, she decided to move on to the next thing.
“I’m going to take a shower,”she said, and Wynne nodded.
Some twenty minutes later, she had just finished blowing her hair dry when she heard a muffled knock on the front door.
McCabe, Maddie thought, and took a last critical look at herself in the mirror. Stupidly, she’d already applied the merest hint of rosy pink lipgloss and a touch of powder and mascara, because she wasn’t planning on going t
o bed until she knew Zelda was safe, and waiting for Zelda involved seeing McCabe. Which brought her to the stupid part. The makeup had been on account of McCabe.
She wanted to look good for him.
Acknowledging that made her frown, and she was frowning still as she shrugged into her robe and pulled open the bathroom door.
McCabe was standing in a pool of warm lamplight just inside the living room, talking to Wynne. He’d lost his tie and shoulder holster but gained Zelda’s duffel bag, which he had slung over one shoulder. Disheveled, with his black hair mussed and his jaw dark with stubble, he once again looked more like a thug than an FBI agent. He was unsmiling, soaking wet, and smeared liberally with mud, and despite all that, he was still so hunky-looking that Maddie’s heart gave a little skip. His once-white shirt was plastered to his broad shoulders and brawny arms, and was just transparent enough so that she could see both his sculpted pecs and the wedge of hair that darkened his chest. His gray slacks clung to his narrow hips and the powerful muscles of his thighs, and closely molded what Maddie already knew was a very impressive package.
Remembering how it had felt against her, she felt a quick instinctive tightening in her loins.
Quit looking at him like jumping his bones is the next item on your agenda. ... She could almost hear Jon saying it.
Realizing that that was exactly what she was doing, Maddie felt a quick flush of both embarrassment and a whole other kind of heat, and hastily shifted her gaze to focus on the squirming navy blue bundle tucked securely under his arm. It took Maddie a moment to realize that the navy blue part of the bundle was McCabe’s jacket, and the squirmy part was Zelda. Clearly taking no chances, he’d wrapped the dog in it so that not so much as a furry paw was visible.
Maddie felt a flood of relief.
“Zelda,” she said on a thankful note, and went to claim the bundle. As she approached, McCabe’s eyes slid over her and his mouth tightened, but he let the duffel slide to the floor. Then he crouched to pull his jacket off Zelda and set her on her feet.
The little dog promptly shook herself, sending muddy droplets flying everywhere. Maddie winced a little as she observed the resultant mess. Floor, wall, McCabe’s legs—all were the unlucky recipients of Zelda’s largesse. McCabe’s expression turned sardonic as he looked down at his legs, which were already so wet and muddy that a few more drops surely couldn’t matter. Meanwhile, Zelda took a few tottering steps forward, then sank down on her haunches. Panting, ears alert, she scanned her surroundings. Maddie’s eyes widened as she looked at her.
Like McCabe, Zelda was soaked; her coat was muddy and bedraggled; her tail left wet marks on the floor with every twitch. And her topknot had wilted so that it hung limply in front of her left eye, its tiny lavender bow wildly askew.
“Now that’s what I call a bad hair day,” Wynne observed.
Maddie’s lips twitched.
“Oh, dear,” Maddie said, and, moving rather warily, picked up the end of the once-elegant lavender leash, which was filthy and limp now. Once she had the end in her hand, she felt more secure. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Zelda looked up at her just as warily, her black eyes gleaming, but made no attempt to run—or worse. Probably, Maddie thought, given all the excitement, she was exhausted.
Which, considering Zelda’s propensities, was a good thing.
“You could have been killed,” Maddie scolded as she led her toward the kitchen with its linoleum floor and supply of paper towels. A snort pulled her attention from the dog. Her eyes collided with McCabe’s.
“Seems like you’re not the only one around here with a death wish, doesn’t it?” he said, his drawl more pronounced than she had ever heard it.
Her brows twitched together.
“You know what, you probably want to go and take a shower,” Wynne said to McCabe in a way-too-hearty tone. “How about I hang around with Maddie while you do that?”
“Yeah.” McCabe gave her a long, hard look before glancing at Wynne. “Get Gomez or Hendricks to bring my bag up from the Blazer, would you? I’ve got some clothes in it.”
“Will do.”
As McCabe headed off toward the bathroom, Wynne followed Maddie into the kitchen, bringing the duffel bag with him. The curtains were closed and the light was on when she entered, so she surmised Wynne had visited the kitchen while she was in the shower. The smallest of smiles touched her mouth: If he’d been raiding her refrigerator, he’d probably been disappointed; the cold cuts and cheese and potato salad he’d bought the other day were all gone, largely thanks to him. Basically, all he would have found to eat was the salad McCabe had turned his nose up at earlier.
“You need groceries,” Wynne said, confirming her surmise. He set the duffel bag on the counter and started rooting around in it.
“There’s salad,” Maddie replied with a straight face. Wynne made an unenthusiastic sound. Glancing around at him—he still was checking out the contents of the duffle—Maddie grinned. “Is there a bowl in there, by the way? Zelda’s probably thirsty.”
“Yeah.” He produced a bowl and passed it to Maddie. It was silver and heavy, and had Zelda’s name engraved on it. Her eyes widened slightly as she turned it over, checked the mark, and realized that she was holding a sterling-silver dog dish.
“This is sterling,” she said to Wynne.
He grimaced. “Dog lives better than I do.”
“Me, too.” She filled it with water and set it down in front of Zelda, who lifted her head. “Water, your highness.”
Zelda looked at her, looked at the bowl, then stood up and took a few dainty laps. Maddie took advantage of her distraction to start patting her down rather gingerly with paper towels. Finishing with the water long before Maddie had finished with her, the dog sat and panted but offered no resistance when Maddie gave up on trying to fix the bow on her topknot and instead tugged it from her hair. The look that resulted was kind of an early Beatles mop-top, more sheep-dog than Pekingese.
“Cute,” Maddie told her. Zelda looked unconvinced.
“Want this?” Wynne reached into the duffel bag and came up with a wire-bristled brush, which he proffered to Maddie. Maddie looked at Zelda, looked at the brush, and shook her head.
“No point in pressing my luck. Anyway, she’s going to a groomer first thing in the morning.”
Wynne grinned. “Good thought.”
“Isn’t it?” Having done all she could do to restore Zelda to her former glory and survived to tell the tale, Maddie washed her hands in the sink. From the relative lack of water pressure, she deduced that McCabe was still in the shower.
Knowing how the water supply to her apartment worked, she had to smile. He’d either just been blasted with ice water or scalded.
Zelda was lying flat on the linoleum and Wynne was leaning against the table when she turned around. Zelda, who still gave off a faint wet-dog smell, was doing her fur-rug thing again, only with breathing this time. Wynne chewed gum, gave off noxious grape fumes, and regarded her thoughtfully.
“You know, it’s getting late,” he said. “You might want to go on to bed now.”
Maddie cocked her head at him. A glance at the clock told her that it was getting on toward midnight, but somehow she didn’t think that concern over whether or not she got enough sleep had prompted his suggestion.
“Are you trying to keep me from getting yelled at when McCabe gets out of the shower? That’s really sweet of you, but I’m not all that thin-skinned.”
Wynne’s smile was rueful. “The thing is, like I thought, he still seems to be a little ticked off at you. Hey, you scared him. He’ll be over it by morning, though. Why not take the easy way out and just stay out of his way until then?”
Maddie’s answering smile was noncommittal. The truth was, the thought of quarreling with McCabe had a lot of appeal. “Actually, that’s probably a good idea.”
Which it was, she realized as she thought about it, but not because of the getting-yelled-at part. Be
cause of the heat. She could feel it blistering the air between herself and McCabe whenever they looked at each other now. The truth was, she wanted him. And he wanted her, too. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch, read it in his responses to her. His current bad mood was a case in point. He was mad at her because the idea of her getting hurt had scared him.
They were getting emotionally involved.
The thought rocked her back on her heels. There it was, the thing she hadn’t wanted to face. She was falling hard for an FBI agent, and he, unless she was very much mistaken, was falling hard for her right back.
Which was stupid. No, worse than stupid: It was dangerous.
Under the circumstances, then, the smart thing to do was exactly what Wynne had suggested: run away to bed while McCabe was in the shower, and stay put until morning. Then keep out of his way as much as she could until this whole thing was over.
However it ended, whether she fell off the tightrope or managed to keep balancing until the end, getting involved with McCabe was the last thing she needed to do.
Maddie made up her mind.
“You’re a good guy, Wynne,” she said with a wry smile.
“Yeah.” He was looking at her steadily. “The thing is, I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Maddie was taken aback. The meaning of that was hard to mistake. Was it so obvious what was happening? She took refuge in denial. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yeah, you do. You and McCabe—anybody can see where that’s headed. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a super guy. In fact, he’s my best friend in the world. Wherever we are, whatever we do, he’s got my back, and I’ve got his. But you—you’re a real nice girl, and you don’t seem like the quickie-love-affair type.”
“And that’s what this would be.” The way Maddie said it, it wasn’t a question. It was a statement, because she already knew the answer.
“As soon as we get our guy, we’re out of here. You know that.” Wynne looked almost apologetic.
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