That house she hadn’t wanted was now home. She was comfortable there, even though hands-down she would have preferred a condo in a city. The lemons-to-lemonade theory had given her friends, a surprising sense of belonging, and Tricks. She glanced at the dog and had to smile at the expression of bliss on the furry face. Tricks loved riding anywhere, but she knew she was going home; she recognized the routine with the mailbox, and the drive. Home meant comfort and familiarity and all her toys, as well as a late-afternoon romp and then supper.
Bo rounded the last curve, and the house came into view. An unfamiliar vehicle, a new-looking black Chevy Tahoe, was sitting in the driveway. She stopped the Jeep, then had a horrifying thought: My God, what if Axel had come to visit and that nasty surprise card was his way of announcing himself? She narrowed her eyes; if it was Axel, he could leave the same way he got here, and the sooner the better. He wasn’t welcome in her home.
But it wasn’t Axel who slowly exited the SUV. A quick look was all she needed to know this was a stranger, a tall man with somewhat shaggy dark hair. She reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the pistol Jesse had insisted she get. Beside her, Tricks’s attention was riveted on the stranger, and she gave an excited “Woof!” She was leaning against her harness, eager to exit the Jeep. ln her world, strangers were someone new to play with her.
Bo’s world wasn’t as optimistic. She didn’t turn off the ignition, in case she needed to get away fast; instead she lowered the window and called out, “May I help you?” The words were courteous; the tone was the one Jesse had taught her to use, louder than a woman would normally speak, and more authoritative.
The man put his arm on top of the SUV. “Are you Isabeau Maran?”
“I am.” The fact that he knew her name didn’t mean she was any less cautious. Besides, he looked like a ghoul, with a dead-white face and sunken eyes ringed with dark circles.
He wiped a hand across his face. “My name is Morgan Yancy. Your stepbrother sent me to you.”
CHAPTER 4
I DON’T HAVE A STEPBROTHER,” SHE SAID FLATLY, COMPLETELY unappeased by the obvious conclusion that this man was the “present” Axel had sent. She didn’t know what he’d meant by that and didn’t care. She wasn’t having anything to do with Axel or his present-not that this guy looked like any kind of present other than a gag gift, and she wasn’t laughing.
“Axel MacNamara,” he clarified. His voice sounded funny, kind of thin and breathless. He was a big guy-tall, anyway, because his head was well above the top of the SUV, so the thin voice was out of place.
“I know who you were talking about. Doesn’t matter.”
“He said you’d feel that way.” The man looked around, his gaze moving slowly from object to object as if it was an effort to move even his eyes. She got the impression he was buying time more than anything else. Suddenly she realized that he didn’t look ghoulish, he looked unhealthy. A sheen of sweat coated his face though the day was too cool to warrant sweating from just sitting in a car.
“He was right.”
Then something clicked in her brain, and Bo narrowed her eyes, studying him. People who were sick and weak had that thinness to their voices, as if they didn’t have the strength to draw a good breath. The pallor of his skin emphasized the stark angles of his face and the dark stubble of several days’ growth of beard, the dark circles under his sunken eyes.
She got the sudden impression that his outstretched arm on the top of the SUV was all that was keeping him upright. She looked at his hand. Yes; the tips of his fingers were white from pressing hard against the metal. He was sweating from the effort he was making to stand upright.
“What’s wrong with you?” she demanded, her tone still wary but underlaid by a note of concern she couldn’t help feeling.
He raised his other arm, wiped his shirt sleeve across his face. “Got shot.” He gave her a hard look that she felt even across the distance between the two vehicles. “It wasn’t fun, don’t want to do it again. So I’d appreciate it if you’d put away that weapon.”
He couldn’t see the pistol in her hand, but he must have seen her lean over and accurately guessed she was getting a weapon from the glove compartment. Mindful of their isolation, she wasn’t scared but that didn’t mean she had to abandon caution. With a touch of irony she said, “I’m sure you would, but I’ll hold on to it for now. What are you doing here?”
“I told you. I was sent.”
“For what reason?” Not that she didn’t have an idea, simply because she knew how Axel’s perverted brain worked.
“Recuperation, and under the radar.”
Beside her, Tricks had evidently decided she’d been patient long enough. She butted Bo’s arm and woofed again; her ears perked up and her dark eyes locked on the stranger she hadn’t yet been able to greet properly. The man gave her a brief look and then dismissed her as no threat. Well, Tricks wasn’t a threat-except to clean clothing-but Bo didn’t trust people who didn’t like animals, so her misgivings swelled higher again.
“I don’t think so. I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you, and I sure as hell don’t want you as a roommate.”
“Paid roommate,” he qualified. Slowly he pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “Here, call Axel. He’ll explain.”
“I don’t want to talk to the asshole.”
“I don’t expect he wants to talk to you, either, but he does what needs to be done.”
Meaning she didn’t? Bo gave him a hostile, distrustful look. It was wasted because he chose that moment to close his eyes and swallow, as if he were fighting to stay conscious.
He might be a good actor, but even an Oscar winner couldn’t make his face go gray. She had the alarming conviction that he was about to face-plant right there in the gravel driveway.
Shit!
Swearing under her breath, she put the Jeep in park and shoved the door open. Tricks bounced as much as she was able, wanting to get out. “Stay,” Bo said firmly as she got out and slammed the door shut. Her boots crunched on the gravel and a chilly breeze blew in her face, bringing with it the sharp, clean scent of impending rain or snow. Tricks began barking, keeping up the doggy litany of displeasure at being left behind as Bo rounded the Tahoe SUV, the pistol still in her hand and a sharp eye on her unwanted visitor.
She might as well have saved the effort. She doubted he’d be able to hit anything other than the ground. He was literally clinging to the vehicle, his right knee braced against the frame, right arm across the roof, left hand clamped on the door.
“Sit down,” she said sharply. “Sit.” It was the same tone she used on Tricks when Tricks decided-as she did on a regular basis-to test whether Bo was still boss.
The tone worked on men as well as it did on dogs-either that, or he didn’t have any choice. He let out a shaky breath and all but collapsed into the driver’s seat, half-sprawling before he gathered himself and managed to sit upright.
In the Jeep, Tricks gave the bark that signaled she was really running out of patience, that she was deeply unhappy about being kept harnessed now that she was home, where she normally had the run of the place.
Bo ignored the bark. “Let me see your ID,” she commanded and stood at a safe distance while he placed the cell phone on the dash and laboriously fished his wallet out of his back pocket. Taking it in his left hand, he extended his arm back toward her, evidently intending that she take wallet and all. She did, stretching out and snagging it, then moving farther away in case he suddenly recuperated and jumped at her. She didn’t think he would, or could, but that wasn’t a chance she was willing to take.