Читать книгу The Heiress and The Bodyguard - Ryanne Corey - Страница 9

He had a damn good excuse for getting lost.

That damn good excuse was sitting beside him, the breeze from the window scattering her spun-gold hair over the seat back. The air was redolent with her scent, a subtle combination of roses and baby lotion. Everything about her seemed magnified in the close confines of the car, the small sighs he heard now and again, her restless movements in the seat, even the faint shadows of weariness beneath her eyes. She had lost the urge to converse back at the gas station, keeping her thoughts and questions to herself. He couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t exactly treated her with kid gloves. Julie’s face was turned away from him, her breathing slightly uneasy as if her silence was less than peaceful. He found himself stealing glances at her whenever he could, fascinated by this untried, defensive soul in his care. She seemed to be everything he was not: a delicate fantasy filled with curiosity, amazingly innocent and unguarded. Heaven knew there had been nothing like her in Oakland. Nothing like her in his entire life, actually. An hour into their drive, for reasons that evaded him, he’d turned the radio on softly, finding a melancholy blues station that seemed to fit his mood. And what a strange mood it was.

A pink chink in his scratched and dented armor? Maybe. Billy was, if nothing else, a realist, and knew it didn’t matter at this point.

What did matter, he realized abruptly, was that he’d gotten them good and lost. Unless he’d been mistaken, the signpost he’d just seen half-buried in a cypress jungle read Gator Getaway, 5 Miles. Nothing at all about Palm Beach, no directions to freeways or interstates.

Damn. This was not going to reflect well on him.

“Did you see that?” Julie asked, breaking sixty minutes of brittle silence.

Billy feigned surprise. He was no different than any other man, and the words I goofed were not in his everyday vocabulary. “What? See what?”

“The sign we just passed. Gator Getaway…isn’t that what it said?”

“Oh, that sign. I think it said, Gator, Get Away,” some kind of a warning. I wouldn’t worry about it.” Then, hopefully, “Did you know you smelled like roses?”

“Don’t try and change the subject.” Julie grabbed the map and shoved it close to the dashboard lights. “What the…? Oh, it’s upside down. Gator…Gator…There’s nothing in the index called Gator Getaway. Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

Cornered, Billy surrendered. “I am absolutely certain that I haven’t a clue where we are, let alone where we’re going. On the positive side, I know precisely where we’ve been. It’s good to think positively, don’t you think?”

“We’re lost,” Julie said, with an equal mixture of alarm and satisfaction. “Ha! The boy wonder has gotten us lost. Lost, lost, lost. And now we’re headed to some godforsaken place where alligators gather. What do you have to say about that?”

“Pick a four-letter word, any four-letter word. That’s what I have to say about that.” This city boy had no desire to visit a place where alligators congregated. If it weren’t for the unrelenting darkness and swamp-like foliage, he might be able to get his bearings. This was not the way things were done in the concrete jungle. Roads led somewhere in California, and they weren’t obscured by confusing walls of dripping, mossy vines. You might get stuck in a traffic jam, but you always knew where you were stuck, and you had colorful graffiti murals to enjoy while you waited. And if you happened to be an undercover cop, you could pull out the handy-dandy portable gumball machine, stick it on the roof of your car and zip down the emergency lane with cheerful impunity.

Not that a gumball machine would help him at this point. He had a sinking feeling he was already in the emergency lane.

“This is all your fault,” he told Julie irritably.

Her jaw dropped. “What? What did you say?”

“You have no idea what you’re putting me through tonight.” He was not about to tell her how good she smelled or what incredible legs she had, although these things had certainly contributed to his mounting stress. “I’m coming unglued. I never got lost in California, never once. How do you people live in a wilderness like this? Where are all your stoplights? Where are your freeway entrances? I’d rather be dodging bullets in California than alligators in Florida, I’ll tell you that. And that’s if we’re still in Florida. I have my doubts.”

“Are you kidding? You don’t know what state we’re in?” Julie pressed her nose against the window, palms splayed over the glass. “I can’t see anything,” she whispered slowly. “No houses. No street lights, nothing. It’s never dark in Palm Beach. Everything stays open all night. I’m really getting freaked out. Do something.”

“What would you like me to do? Look, I’m only human. I can’t read a map and keep us on the road at the same time. Florida is your state, I’m just a tourist. You’re the one who is supposed to know your way around. You’ve lived here for…what? Twenty-five years?”

“Twenty-three years,” she corrected stiffly. “Almost. And most of that time I was in England, anyway. Except for when I was in Italy. And the summers I usually spent in France or in the Hamptons, except when Harris insisted I go to finishing school in Switzerland, so—”

“How do you finish someone? I know how they do it in California, but how do they do it in Switzerland?”

“Well…you learn the social graces, and…never mind. Just trust me when I tell you my idea of finishing someone is probably quite different from your idea of finishing someone.”

“I’ll just bet it is. So you went to Switzerland to ‘finish’ yourself, but you don’t know Florida any better than I do. This is just great. What the hell were you thinking tonight? The next time you decide to go for a joyride, hop on a bus and leave the driving to someone else.”

Julie looked down her nose at him. “No wonder you were always getting shot. You have no manners whatsoever.”

“Undercover cops are famous for that. They’re so rude, people would rather shoot ’em than look at ’em.”

“Well then, it’s a shame you weren’t a traffic cop. You’d probably be much nicer and you’d know something about reading a map and finding your way around. Your tip just went down, by the way.”

A moment of quiet passed before Billy trusted himself to speak. “Unfortunately for you, I was not a traffic cop. Now, since I’ve been known to have a temper and occasionally it gets the best of me, we’ll just have a few minutes of silence.”

“We still don’t—”

“Silence.”

Julie opened her mouth to retort, then looked sideways at his stark profile and thought better of it. There was something about the rigid set of his lips that suggested he had completely lost his sense of humor. As far as she could remember, she’d never witnessed a true testosterone temper tantrum. She had spent more time with Harris than any other man, and the closest he had ever come to losing his temper was loosening his tie. Strangely, some little devil within her wanted to see Billy lose his cool. She stared at him through a screen of lashes, inexplicably fascinated by the way his wild, wind-tossed hair moved over his hard brown cheekbones. There was a scar that cut diagonally through one dark eyebrow, perhaps a memento of yet another dangerous escapade. He was driving with hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, steely-blue eyes focused straight ahead and the speedometer glued to a steady forty-five m.p.h. Somehow she knew his emotions were barely in check. She was oddly intrigued by the notion of being the one to push him over the edge. She’d never wielded any sort of influence over men, particularly a man’s man like Billy. He had a world of experience; she had none. And yet she had managed to get under his skin; she was at least savvy enough to know that. Was this, then, her first skirmish in the battle of the sexes? Had she won?

“Why are you doing that?” Billy asked suddenly, still staring straight ahead.

She looked away, squinting at the curtain of black nothing beyond the window. “Doing what?”

“Staring at me.”

“How could you know if I was staring? You weren’t even looking at me.”

Quietly, “I knew. I know everything you do.”

“Well…well…” Hells bells, this man had a way of overwhelming her. A few little words and her bravado evaporated beneath a nuclear flush. Had there been a referee in the back seat, round two would go to the hotshot from California.

“I don’t want to talk anymore,” she muttered.

“What do you know? Miracles do still happen.”

Civilization was not far ahead. A sort of semi-civilization, at least. As far as Billy could see, they had landed themselves at some sort of amusement park/campground/motel combination. The flashing neon sign had every third letter burned out, but he was quite sure it read Gator Getaway. There were only two cars parked in the motel lot, one in front of the manager’s office.

“Did you ever see Psycho?” Julie asked softly, brown eyes enormous. “This place is sort of scary.”

“I worked undercover in California, remember? Nothing is more psycho than that. Besides, I can’t drive any further tonight. I’m beat.” Here again he was prevaricating. He could go without sleep for three days and never notice, but Harris Roper was a little more delicate. One way or another, Billy had to find enough privacy to call him. Not to mention the fact they were lost. It went deeply against his independent grain, but he had to ask someone where the hell they were and find out how to get where they were going. Billy shoved open his door and got out of the car, then, keeping in character, leaned down and lifted an eyebrow at Julie. “Unfortunately, I’m on a limited budget. You and your credit cards will have to check us in.”

“Of course. I forgot for a minute you were the employee.” Julie grabbed her purse and got out of the car, fighting an odd tightness in her throat. She followed Billy inside the motel lobby, sneakers stomping, then nearly ran back outside when she saw the clerk behind the desk.

There was no question about it. He bore a definite resemblance to Anthony Perkins, who played the knife-wielding motel owner in Psycho.

“We need a couple of rooms,” Billy told him.

“Sorry,” Anthony Perkins replied, stifling a yawn. “We’re just about full up. We’ve got a single left, if that’ll do ya.”

Billy was half tempted to flip out his police badge, but since it was illegal, he liked to reserve that for emergencies. “As far as I could see, you have a dozen rooms and only one car parked in the lot. Did all those people come in one car?”

“Most everybody who visits us comes with a trailer and parks at the campground across the way. We only keep two rooms open during the off-season, and I just rented one of ’em an hour ago.”

“Tomorrow won’t do us any good,” Julie told him, peering out from behind Billy’s back. “We need it now. We’ll pay double.”