Dangerous Waters

by Janice Kay Johnson

  "Oh." She felt stupid. "I guess... But I still don't see..."

  "Even if they left town, they'll read this."

  "They" didn't need to be identified for her. She stared at him, a prickle of uneasiness sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. Bending her head, she read the article.

  After a moment she looked challengingly back at him. "It says in plain letters that I didn't see the men clearly enough to identify them."

  "And do you think they'll believe that?"

  "Why shouldn't they?"

  "Because their lives depend on it."

  Again fear crept over her, made her voice low and husky. "Why are you really here?"

  He was silent for a moment, and then his mouth twisted ruefully. "I told you. I owe you one."

  She had been almost afraid of him, but when he looked at her like that, something deep in her stomach clenched in response. She used anger to cover it up. "And you want to pay me back by scaring the hell out of me?"

  His gray eyes were bleak. "No. What I want is to keep you safe. Unless you're frightened, you won't take precautions."

  Megan took a step back, shook her head. "This is ridiculous. If I need help, I'll call the police. I don't want a...bodyguard, or whatever you're offering to be. I just want everything to be normal."

  "Normal?" Suddenly his tone was mocking. "What's normal for you, Miss Olympic Gold Medalist?"

  "This," she said fiercely, gesturing at the beach. "Home. Friends. People I've known all my life."

  He flicked the newspaper with one finger. "Not that?"

  "Not anymore."

  "I knew I'd seen you before," he said musingly. "I just couldn't figure out where. The minute I saw that headline, it fell into place. You were the one who looked so shy, who had a smile so sweet it melted America's heart. Wasn't that the line Sports Illustrated used? I remember watching a television interview of you one time, trying to figure out how a shy little girl had the guts to be a world-class swimmer. You might have been a kitten out of the water, but you had to be a shark in it."

  "I'm not either anymore," she said starkly.

  They stared at each other in dark silence, the emotional tension between them belying the fact that they were strangers. At last, as if compelled, he reached out and touched her cheek, slid his fingertips to her mouth. Her lips trembled before she jerked her head away.

  "Go away," she said, in a voice that shook. "I'll accept your gratitude, but nothing else from you. Do you understand?"

  "Oh, I understand." He looked frustrated. "Has anybody ever told you you're stubborn?"

  She began to turn away, but glanced over her shoulder. "Frequently. I prefer to think of it as determined."

  They both heard the low, distant growl of thunder. "Excuse me," Megan said calmly.

  The water was still deceptively blue and peaceful, but the wall of storm clouds reared above the ridge and the air had become thick and damp-smelling. As she used the bullhorn to chase the last few swimmers out of the water, Megan heard another muted rumble from far away. After hanging the sign: No Lifeguard on Duty, Swim at Your Own Risk, she glanced back toward the boathouse. He was gone. So why wasn't she relieved?

  An hour later the parking lot was empty, the lake turbulent. Lightning crackled above the ridge and thunder seemed to split the storm-dark sky. Megan waited alone under the eave of the boathouse. She was determined to stay until eight o'clock, when the beach officially closed. People could be dumb, and she didn't want to be responsible for a teenager driven by a dare.

  Dusk was hastened by the storm. Within half an hour it was nearly dark. The sodium lamps shed an eerie yellow light that made her small car look even lonelier in the large, empty parking lot. Megan slowly became aware of her isolation. Each time lightning streaked the sky, she tensed, waiting for the crash of thunder. Feeling edgy, she tried to watch her car and the lake both, keeping her back to the clapboard wall of the boathouse.

  Even if Ross McKenzie was right, she thought, if one of the wire services did pick up the story, it wouldn't have appeared yet. Probably even tomorrow would be too soon. But thanks to him, she was already listening for footsteps. Which was downright stupid. She had told him the truth. She wouldn't let herself be afraid of shadows. What she would do was call Pete Tevis when she got home and find out what he thought.

  In fact, she might as well go home now. There wasn't even any traffic out on the road, far less anyone interested in a dip in the lake.

  Megan grabbed her gym bag and headed across the grass toward her car. Suddenly headlights appeared out on the road, sweeping across the lot, mercilessly exposing her. Megan froze, operating on the instincts of a hunted small animal that knew movement would reveal it. When the car didn't hesitate, disappearing around a curve in a flicker of red tail-lights, she let out the breath that had been trapped in her throat and began to walk, faster and faster, until she was nearly running by the time she reached her car.

  She looked warily in before unlocking the door, but the interior was empty. Once in the driver's seat, she locked the door again, absurdly reassured by the small precaution. A moment later, she turned the Civic out onto the road.

  Almost immediately, headlights appeared in her rearview mirror. She studied them nervously. Had somebody been waiting for her? No, that was ridiculous. If some bogeyman was after her, he'd had his chance while she was all alone at the beach. He wouldn't follow her.

  Nonetheless, she stepped harder on the accelerator. An instant later a second set of headlights appeared right behind the first. She couldn't figure out where either car had come from. She was glancing in the rearview mirror again when lightning flung a jagged bolt across the sky, nearly blinding her. Megan winced as thunder shook the world. She came to the stop sign at the highway and didn't even hesitate. Nor did the two cars behind her.

  The other drivers had a perfect right to turn onto the highway also, she reassured herself. It was just coincidence that the two cars hovered the same distance behind hers.

  When she turned again on the outskirts of town, the headlights were still behind her, but closer. In the next flash of lightning Megan tried to see the nearest car and failed. But her nervousness diminished as she passed lighted cottages, the small corner grocery. When she pulled into her driveway, both would no doubt pass by without even slowing down, the drivers never suspecting that they had frightened her.

  Unless one of the cars wasn't that of a neighbor or wandering tourist. What had been a vague suspicion suddenly crystalized into angry certainty. He hadn't gone away at all. With or without her permission, he intended to "protect" her.

  "Damn him," she muttered. As she turned too abruptly into the short lane that ended at her one-car garage, gravel spun under the wheels of her car. In her mirror she saw the first car seem to slow at the head of her driveway, then, illuminated by the lights of the second car, abruptly speed up. Throwing on the emergency brake, Megan flung open the door. Not at all to her surprise, the second car pulled in behind hers. As she stalked toward it, lightning flashed, then disappeared in a crash. But in the brilIiant white light imprinted on her eyelids, she recognized him through the windshield.

  Grabbing the handle of his door, she hauled it open. "Who the hell do you think you are, following me?" she stormed. "If I'd wanted you to know where I live, I'd have told you!"

  His voice was as expressionless as his face. "I owe you, whether you like it or not."

  "I will not be harassed!" she said. "Do you hear me? I'm going into the house and calling the police."

  In the dim, filtered light from her porch she saw him frown. "Didn't you notice the company you had on the road?"

  Megan felt another burst of fury. "I do have neighbors!" she snapped. "Amazing though it may seem, the lake road isn't private."

  He said implacably, "That car was waiting for you. Do you know how easy it would have been to force you off the road into the lake? Nobody would ever guess it wasn't an accident on a night like this. I was beginning to think yo
u were asking for it, staying at that damn beach all by yourself. Didn't you listen to a word I said?"

  "I was doing my job," she retorted. "Anyway, I don't even know who you are! You're the last person I'm going to listen to."

  Lightning shivered across the sky and the first splatter of rain hit her face. Megan braced herself for the thunder. In its aftermath she said, "And I meant what I said. I'm going into the house to call the police right now." With that she slammed his door.

  She knew he sat in his car watching as she grabbed her gym bag from her Civic and headed for the ramshackle porch tucked behind lilacs and a huge, gnarled apple tree. She could feel the silence behind her as a tangible presence. Well, if he thought she was bluffing, he was going to be in for a big surprise, she thought angrily.

  Seething, Megan had stomped onto the porch before she saw that her front door stood several inches ajar.

  CHAPTER 3

  Megan froze, not even breathing. Light spilled through the crack onto the uneven boards of the porch, and she stared at the yellow streak as though it were a snake. At last, slowly, she eased back, crept down the stairs, without once taking her gaze from the door.

  Where was Zachary? she thought suddenly, filled with new terror. She knew she'd left him out; she had worried that afternoon, when the storm began. The big retriever was petrified of thunder and firecrackers. But even if he'd been hiding beneath the porch, he would never have let someone break into her house.

  When a hand closed lightly on her shoulder from behind, Megan gasped and whirled around. Ross McKenzie stood behind her. His eyes were intent on her face and she could feel his tension in the fingers that tightened on her shoulder.

  "What's wrong?" he whispered.

  Her mouth was trembling and she had to bite her lip to regain control. Her voice was a thin thread. "My...my front door. It's open. I know I locked it."

  She saw something hard and dangerous on his face as he looked beyond her. Releasing her, he reached beneath the denim jacket he wore over the sweatshirt. When his hand reappeared he held a gun. Megan barely stifled another gasp.

  He gave her a look, jerked his head toward the cars. Megan didn't move. Leaving her with a last exasperated glance, he slipped through the shadows toward the porch. When lightning flared, he paused, but then he took advantage of the crash of thunder to climb the creaky stairs. He moved with the unnerving grace of a predator. Standing to one side of the door, he edged it silently open with the barrel of the gun, then vanished inside.

  Megan hesitated, feeling the cold rain on her face, then reluctantly followed. It was her house, her dog who was missing. She had to know. And what if Mac shot Zachary? She had just steeled herself to poke her head around the doorframe when she heard him say harshly, "Freeze where you are!"

  A muffled voice said, "What the hell...?"

  Shock clutched at Megan's throat. "Oh, no!" She was running when she reached the kitchen. The scene there horrified her.

  Mac stood spread-legged in the doorway, gun held in both hands, pointed at the dark-haired man who had stopped halfway out of a kitchen chair.

  "Mac, he's my brother! Don't shoot him!" She clutched at his arm.

  Slowly he straightened, letting his hands drop so that the barrel pointed at the floor. His voice was dry. "I really didn't plan to, as long as he was smart enough not to go for a gun."

  Bill sank back into the chair, swearing. "What in the hell is going on? Some maniac comes into your kitchen pointing a gun at me! Christ, he took ten years off my life!"

  "I'm sorry," Megan said helplessly, sagging against the counter. "Bill, where's Zach?"

  "Upstairs, hiding under a bed," her brother retorted. "I should have joined him!"

  "I thought...Mom said you were off on a trip."

  "I got in tonight," her younger brother said, his expression ironic. "I thought I'd say hello."

  The man standing silently beside Megan slipped his gun into the shoulder holster hidden by his faded denim jacket. "You left the front door open a crack," he observed.

  "The damn thing never latches. Is that a crime?"

  "You scared Megan. She comes home at night, somebody's in her house. Don't you think she should be scared?''

  "No," Bill said bluntly. "This isn't New York City. And, hey, I drop by all the time. Why would she think it was anyone else?"

  Megan's emotions had been seesawing wildly, but now anger took precedence. "The only reason I was afraid was because he has been doing his damndest to scare me to death!" She glared at Mac. "You almost shot my brother, and all because you're hysterical over some invisible threat to me! This is the last straw! I want you out of my life!"

  "Who the hell is he?" her younger brother asked, sounding a little plaintive this time.

  There was a moment of silence. Megan's blue eyes locked defiantly with Ross McKenzie's narrowed gray ones. "You were glad enough to see me a minute ago," he said quietly.

  "I was not!" she said, then added with supreme illogic, "If I was, it was only because of all your warnings!"

  His mouth tightened. "What was I supposed to do, let you just wander in?"

  "Yes!" He was too close to her, but she refused to back away. She didn't want him to see the small kernel of fear that was mixed with her anger. But there was more to it than that. She found it impossible not to be aware of him physically. He dominated the room with a dangerous charisma that she couldn't help responding to. She, too, wanted to know who he was, or maybe more accurately, what he was. He'd reached for the gun as naturally as she took a breath. He had a scar on his belly and killers on his trail.

  She watched carefully for a reaction as she said flatly, "You're not a carpenter, are you?"

  A muscle twitched beside his mouth. After a moment he looked away, staring at the rain-lashed window. Finally he sighed. "I can build a house. You might say I'm moonlighting at it."

  "Why?"

  "As a cover." He nodded toward the refrigerator. "Any chance you keep some beer in there?"

  "That depends," she said stiffly.

  The lift of his brow held sudden mockery. "Trying to bribe a police officer?"

  Megan's mouth dropped open. Whatever she'd expected, this wasn't it. "You're a cop?"

  "Actually..." he shrugged a little apologetically, "I'm FBI."

  It was Bill who spoke up then, sounding hostile. "Can you prove it?"

  Mac's gaze hadn't left Megan. Strangely, there was something vulnerable in his eyes, as though he were waiting for some sign from her. Of approval? But why would he care what she thought of him?

  Still watching her, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a leather case. Flipping it open, he held out a badge. Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  Megan was lost. "But...I don't understand. Why are you here?"

  Suddenly looking weary, he tossed the badge onto the worn kitchen table. "It's a long story. I'm going to have to trust you to keep it to yourselves."

  Bill picked up the badge and stared at it in apparent disbelief. At last he shook his head. "Weird."

  Mac glanced at him with wry humor, then back at Megan. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

  "What? Oh! Of course. I'm sorry. You probably still have a headache, don't you?"

  He lowered himself carefully into one of the pressed-back oak kitchen chairs and stretched out his long, muscular legs, wincing in obvious pain. "Yeah, you might say so. I suppose I'd better take one of the damn pills."

  Megan hurried to get him a glass of water while he produced a small bottle of white capsules from the pocket of his jacket. "Haven't you been taking them?" she asked.

  "Didn't feel too bad earlier." He popped one onto his tongue and took a long drink of water. Then he gave her a lopsided smile. "How about that beer?"

  "You shouldn't mix..." Megan began automatically.

  He interrupted gently, "One won't hurt. And I'll bet your brother could use one, too. Shock is tough on the system."

  Megan opened her mouth to argue, then s
ighed. "All right! But you have to talk in payment. I want to know what's going on. Does Pete Tevis know who you are? And those men. Who were they?”

  "Pete Tevis?" Bill echoed. "I don't get it. This whole thing is crazy!"

  Mac said, "I'll explain as much as I know. But what I tell you can't leave this room. Do you understand? It isn't just my safety at stake."

  Bill glanced swiftly at Megan, then back at Mac. "Yeah, sure, I understand. I guess."

  "I think you missed the first installment," Megan told him as she got the beers. "Somebody bopped him over the head the other day and tossed him into the lake. Unfortunately for their plans, I pulled him out."

  Her brother absorbed that in silence. "Did you see them?"

  "Yeah, she saw, 'em all right," Mac said drily.

  "But not well enough to identify," Megan interjected.

  Mac took a swallow of beer, coolly holding her gaze. "They're not going to believe that."

  She sat down and propped her elbows on the table. "And I still think you're being paranoid."

  He grimaced. "Yeah, well, it's an occupational hazard, I'll concede that. In this case, I just don't want to take a chance." He shrugged out of his denim jacket, leaving it draped on the back of the chair, and took another swallow of beer.

  "But what's this case?" Bill asked in bewilderment. "I mean, crime is not a big problem at Devil's Lake. We have an occasional boat stolen or maybe somebody has a little too much to drink and slugs somebody else. Not exactly your thing."

  Megan scarcely heard her brother. It seemed so strange, the three of them sitting casually around her kitchen table talking. Mac didn't fit here. The leather holster crisscrossing his broad shoulders only accentuated his air of toughness, the guarded look in his gray eyes. In contrast, her handsome, blue-eyed, dark-haired brother seemed very young. Even Mac's voice had a rough edge to it, and she had the feeling he never spoke without carefully weighing his words first.

  Now he shrugged. "I was hiding here. And you're right. I picked it because I used to come fishing here and I remembered it as being peaceful. Not the kind of place I'd meet former...ah, acquaintances."