Dawson Geralyn Page 2

  A dog's bark jerked Luke back to the present, and his mouth twisted in a hint of a grin as the stray mutt who'd adopted him during the past week came bounding toward him from the woods where he'd been off exploring. A mix of golden retriever, boxer, and who-knew-what-else, the dog must have been dumped on the highway by an uncaring owner. The mutt had made his way to the marina the same day Luke returned to Caddo Bayou.

  Luke had tossed the dog a bite of his burger, and from that moment on, the mutt considered himself Luke's. Luke took longer to come around to the idea, but finally, last night, he'd sealed the deal by giving the dog a name.

  "Whoa, there, Knucklehead," Luke said as the dog went up on his hind legs, planted his front paws on Luke's shirt, and licked his face. Luke pushed the mutt off him, saying, "The slobber factor is getting out of hand. If you're going on this trip with me, you're gonna have to get some control."

  His tail wagged, his tongue dangled out one side of his mouth, and he looked so stupidly friendly that Luke let out a laugh. He reached down and scratched the pooch behind the ears before continuing toward the Miss Behavin' II. The dog bounded aboard ahead of Luke, then waited at the door for Luke to let him inside. Like a flash, he disappeared toward the starboard stateroom where he'd claimed the queen-sized bed for his own.

  As Luke stowed the last of his supplies for the upcoming fishing trip, he wondered why he'd been a sucker for the mangy hound. He hadn't had a pet in seventeen years. A man in Luke's business had no business owning a dog. Since his job was eighty-five percent travel, he couldn't properly care for a pet.

  "Well, that's not a problem anymore, is it?" Luke slammed the cabinet shut with more force than necessary. He didn't want to think about the job. He didn't want to think about what the hell he was supposed to do with the rest of his life. He hadn't felt this lost since the day his father booted his butt out of Brazos Bend.

  Well, he didn't have to think about any of that now. For the next three weeks, he'd think of nothing more serious than which bait to attach to his line. Old Marie Gauthier was right. He needed time. He'd give himself time. That's exactly what Terry would have told him to do.

  Up at the flybridge helm, Luke fired up the twin Mercruiser three-liter sterndrives, then he struck the lines and pulled away from the Caddo Bayou Marina, headed on a southerly course. He knew his way without consulting a map. He and Terry had made this trip dozens of times over the years, first with the smaller Miss Behavin' I, then after their dot-com windfall, aboard this boat. This was the first time Luke had made it alone.

  Well, alone but for a mutt named Knucklehead.

  Luke cruised for hours before the lack of sleep caught up with him. After guiding the boat into a protected inlet, he sank the anchors, then sought his bed. The hum of the air conditioner drowned out the songs of Mississippi kites and cardinals drifting on the air, and Luke Callahan drifted off to sleep.

  He dreamed of a bikini-clad redhead playing topless beach volleyball and awoke to a bloodcurdling scream.

  CHAPTER 2

  A slurping sound tugged Maddie from the oblivion of sleep, and she opened her eyes to find a hairy monster of a dog with his snout buried in Oscar's bowl, his long red tongue fishing for a snack. Maddie screamed and launched herself at the dog, forcing him away from the fishbowl. Unfortunately, in the process, her knee thumped the bowl and tipped it over. Oscar and water washed onto the wood floor.

  "Yah!" she squealed, diving for the flopping goldfish, putting her body between Oscar and the sharp-toothed canine. Oscar flipped beyond her reach and Maddie lunged forward again, going down on her front as she finally trapped the fish beneath her cupped hands. She lay flat on her stomach in the pool of tepid water, trying to catch her breath and calm her pounding pulse.

  "What the hell is going on here?" inquired a deep, resonant voice.

  Maddie spied the bare feet first. Her gaze crawled slowly upward over moderately hairy, tanned and toned calf muscles, well-defined thighs, and a rather impressive... holy hell... the man was naked. And armed. Armed and naked.

  Naked!

  Maddie jerked her gaze away from both his package and his pistol, dragging her stare up his long, lean length all the way to his face. She recognized the features. He was the man from the party barge, the one with the minnow bucket. The shirtless, sweaty, sexy one with the six-pack abs.

  Great. Wonderful. Obviously, Ms. Winston had a special guest. Maddie should have considered the possibility, considering the name of the boat, Miss Behavin' II. When she'd stepped aboard to pee, she'd never thought she might be boarding the Love Boat.

  Maddie sat back on her heels and attempted a polite smile. "Hello."

  "Who the fuck are you?"

  Well. He might be pretty to look at, but somebody needed to take a bar of soap to his mouth. "My name is Maddie Kincaid and you can lower the gun. I'm here to see Ms. Winston."

  The gun didn't budge, and when he spoke, his tone was a jagged shard of glass. "Who sent you?"

  "Is Ms. Winston here? Ms. Terri Winston?"

  "Who. Sent. You."

  Were she not so scared, she'd be annoyed by his tone. "A friend of hers. Mr. Callahan. Mr. Branch Callahan of Brazos Bend, Texas."

  Surprise flashed in his eyes before fury settled in. He took a threatening step forward. "If that's the case, tell me why I shouldn't shoot you on the spot."

  "What!" Maddie pulled her gaze away from the pair of angry red scars on his torso. The marks looked fresh. They looked like... bullet wounds. Oh, dear.

  He eyed her wet shirt and shorts, and his bayou green eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are you a hooker?"

  She blinked. "Pardon me?"

  "How much did the old man throw at you?" he asked, leaning against the doorway, all naked and malicious. "If it's less than a couple grand, you've sold yourself short. That's what he paid the last whore he sent to lure me back to Brazos Bend."

  The last whore? Maddie plucked her wet T-shirt away from her breasts. "Wait just one minute. I don't know who you are, and frankly, I don't care. I'm sorry if I've interrupted a romantic encounter between you and Ms. Winston. I know I'm the trespasser here, and that automatically puts me in the wrong. Nonetheless, you can drop the name-calling. And it wouldn't hurt you to put some clothes on, either!"

  His mouth worked like a fish, with no sound emerging, until abruptly he backed away and exited the cabin. The dog followed the man, thank goodness, and Maddie climbed to her feet. She quickly returned Oscar to his bowl, then added water from the faucet in the bathroom. After setting the bowl on the dresser out of reach of the dog, she spied dog hair and mussed covers on the far side of the bed. She must have been really tired to sleep through having company in her bed.

  "Thank God it was the dog and not the master," she murmured. Although... "Don't go there, Maddy. Just... think of Oscar."

  Oscar was safe, thank God, and she intended him to stay that way. While Maddie recognized that she'd chosen a peculiar time to finally adopt the pet she'd always wanted, and that a goldfish wasn't exactly the dachshund puppy she'd been considering, the moment she'd entered his previous owner's ransacked home and spied the fishbowl teetering on the edge of a shelf, she'd felt a kinship with Oscar.

  His owner's death had left them both in a desperate situation.

  Maddie dug in her purse for the fish food she'd purchased at an East Texas Wal-Mart, then sprinkled some into the fish bowl. With her pet cared for, she made her way toward the master stateroom.

  She rapped on the doorjamb. "Excuse me. Ms. Winston?"

  Hearing no reply, she ducked her head into the room. A quick glance around revealed scattered sheets on an empty king-sized bed, and her own disheveled reflection in a mirror. So, where was Terri Winston? Why hadn't she followed on Mr. Naked's heels? Was she not on the boat?

  Oh, jeez. Wouldn't that be just her luck? What would she do then?

  As much as she dreaded the idea of approaching him, Maddie knew she had to get some answers from the guy. She finger-combed her hai
r, then scowled down at her shirt—her white, wet, transparent shirt. She again plucked the cotton fabric away from her body and flapped it in the air a few times. Then she wiped her hands on her shorts, drew a deep breath, and went out for round two with Fantasy Abs.

  One good look at their surroundings chased all other thoughts from her mind. Marsh grasses, trees, water. Where was the marina? Maddie whipped her head around. All she saw was swamp!

  Her stomach sank. They'd obviously left port. How long had she been asleep?

  "Um, excuse me? Where exactly are we?"

  He raised his pistol and took aim at the stump of a dead tree rising like a ghost from the bayou. Luckily for Maddie's concentration, he'd dragged on his Hawaiian-print swim trunks. Although, now that she considered the question, his broad, bare shoulders proved to be almost as much a distraction as his... gun.

  He pulled the trigger three deliberate times.

  He didn't bother to look at her. "I don't know what you and Branch Callahan are trying to pull, lady, and frankly, I don't care."

  O-kay. Fine. Definitely a bit of aggression there.

  Bang... bang... bang.

  "It's too late to head back to the marina now. It'll be dark before long, and I'm not navigating the Miss Behavin' through the swamp at night. I'll take you back first thing in the morning, provided you don't piss me off enough to toss you overboard tonight."

  Bang... bang... bang.

  The dead branch cracked, then broke, and fell into the bayou with a whooshing splash. The motion stirred up an alligator sunning himself on a nearby rock, and after a hiss of irritation, he slipped quietly into the water, then disappeared from sight.

  The gator reminded Maddie of the problem at hand, so she cut to the chase. "Look, mister, obviously you're acquainted with Branch Callahan and you have some sort of problem with him. That's understandable. Branch can be a challenge. However, in this case, he's simply trying to help a friend. Me. I really need to talk to Terri Winston. Branch assures me that she can help me."

  He glanced over his shoulder, his expression angry and... haunted. "That'll be a trick."

  What did that mean? Why wouldn't Terri... oh, of course. I'll bet she packed up and left his rude, though spectacular, butt. Great. Wonderful. Now what do I do?

  "Where did she go?"

  "She who?"

  "Terri Winston."

  This time she saw something more in his glower. This time, she saw... grief. Bone-deep, gut-wrenching grief. As the dog padded across the deck, then plopped down on one of the stranger's bare feet, Maddie recalled the sign on the ship store. CLOSED FOR FUNERAL. She considered this man's reaction when she mentioned Terri Winston's name. Oh, no. "She...?"

  "Wasn't a goddamned woman!" he thundered, his scowl murderous. "Terry was the greatest man I ever knew. He was smart and determined and honorable. He knew engines forward and backward, and he could quote box scores going back thirty years. He was a damned fine agent, a damned fine human being, and the world is a poorer place without him in it."

  Maddie exhaled a long, heavy breath. "We're talking about the same person? The owner of this boat and special agent for the DEA?"

  "Terrence Albert Winston. He and I bought the Miss Behavin' II three years ago. Look, lady, I don't know what sort of trick that old Brazos Bend bastard was trying to play on you, but you've wasted your trip. Terry Winston is dead."

  The dog gave a whimper and Maddie's stomach rolled. Oh, man. Oh man oh man oh man. What in the world was she going to do now?

  "It's against my better judgment to ask, but what made you think Terry was a woman? And better yet, what makes you think that Branch and Terry were even acquainted?"

  Maddie stared blankly at the fellow. Because a man lied to me. Again. "He told me so. Branch Callahan did."

  "Why?"

  She recalled the madness of the previous night. She'd fled Brazos Bend with no clear destination in mind, concentrating more on fleeing danger fast than on where to go for help. She'd had the vague thought to lose herself in the wilds of West Texas when her tire went flat. A man had stopped to help her change her tire, then suggested she pay for his labor on her back. When he wouldn't take no for an answer, she'd grabbed a can of hair spray from her grocery sack and shot him in the eyes.

  Branch had called just as she'd spun gravel getting back on the road, and she'd treated him to a one-woman rant about the untrustworthiness of men, how they always let her down, how she couldn't forget that the last time she'd found herself in a marginally related situation, she'd trusted a man and been burned. Badly.

  In hindsight and based on the circumstances, she wasn't surprised at the lie Branch had told her. Nevertheless, it didn't make her happy.

  Based solely on the fact of this fellow's Y chromosome, Maddie shot him a damning glare. "Who are you, anyway?"

  He arched a brow. "You don't know?"

  "Why should I know? Have we met somewhere?" The only person he reminded her of was one of the Chippendale dancers at Janie Pokluda's bachelorette party.

  Ignoring her questions, he set his gun on the deck chair beside him, folded his arms, and studied her, his brow knitted in thought. "Why did the old man send you to Terry? You said you needed his help. With what?"

  "Like I'm going to tell you! I don't even know your name!"

  He rolled his tongue around his mouth and looked at her long and hard. "I wonder," he murmured.

  "Wonder what?"

  Abruptly, he took a step forward and stuck out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Kincaid, was it? My name's Luke. Luke Callahan."

  "Luke Callahan?" she repeated, her eyes widening with surprise. "Callahan?"

  "Yeah."

  "Not Callahan as in... Branch Callahan?"

  "'Fraid so."

  "He's your father?"

  "Technically, yes. Though, since he disowned me seventeen years ago, the reality's a little muddy."

  "Oh, my God." Her mind spun as she processed this bit of news. "Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. They still talk about you in town. The four of you set the fire that burned down the boot factory and put half the town out of work. You're the Holy Terrors!"

  "No." His eyes went hard and glacial, his voice flat. "Not anymore. My brother John is dead."

  Maddie knew that, of course. Townspeople still talked about the scene the surviving Callahan brothers made on their brief return to Brazos Bend for John's memorial service.

  Holy Terror or not, this man was still one of Branch Callahan's careless, coldhearted sons. Branch had sent her here. Had he known Luke would be here?

  Maddie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't understand. What's the connection between you and Ms.... uh... Mr. Winston?"

  "Terry Winston was my partner."

  She blinked. "You're gay?" she asked, unable to stop a twinge of regret.

  "We worked together!"

  "You're a DEA agent?"

  "Not anymore. Now it's your turn. Why did you come looking for Terry?"

  "You were a DEA agent?"

  "Why did you come looking for Terry?" he repeated.

  Maddie slammed her mouth shut. She had to think about this. Be hanged if she'd blurt out her story just because he was Branch Callahan's kin.

  Considering Branch had out-and-out lied to her regarding the Miss Behavin' II's owner, right this minute, the family connection hurt more than helped.

  Was this the same old song? Had Branch Callahan burned her yesterday when he sent her to Caddo Bayou Marina?

  Maddie shoved her fingers through her hair in frustration as she tried to make sense of the developments. Ignoring Luke's question, she asked one of her own. "Did your father know you'd be here?"

  "Uh-uh." He shook his head. "It's still your turn. I'm still waitin' on an answer. What brings you to my boat, Maggie?"

  "Not g's," she corrected, glad for the delay. "D's. Maddie."

  "All right, Maddie. What's your problem? Why did you come looking for a DEA agent?"

  She gazed bli
ndly out over the bayou's green water, trying to decide how to reply. She needed more information about Luke Callahan to know how much, or how little, to tell him. She couldn't afford a mistake. Her freedom hung in the balance. She needed time to think this whole matter through.

  "Well?" he insisted.

  She needed a diversion, and judging by the impatience flaring in his eyes, she needed it fast. But what? She was on a boat in the middle of the swamp. What could... the dog? Could she use the dog?

  The canine in question let out a snore. Better think of something else.

  "What sort of trouble are you in?"

  She wasn't about to tell him. Not until she knew a lot more about him. She was done with giving her trust without weighing the possible consequences.

  So, what to do? She came up with but a single, desperate way to delay answering Luke Callahan's questions and give herself the time she needed. Great. Just great.

  Swallowing her dread, Maddie threw out her hands, waving them wildly as she paced the deck and said, "It's complicated. I don't quite know where to start."

  "Pick a place."

  "All right. You see, your father is my client."

  "So you are a hooker."

  Maddie tossed him a contemptuous scowl, then continued her tale, walking up and down the deck as she spoke, shifting a little closer to the dog with each pass. "I own Home for Now senior care in Brazos Bend. We provide personal services for seniors who are no longer completely independent, but who prefer to remain at home rather than move to assisted living centers."

  Luke scoffed. "Now I know you're lying. Branch Callahan is the most independent cuss on the face of the earth."

  "Yes... well... working for him is sometimes a challenge. It's been a... yeow!"

  As she'd intended, Maddie tripped over the dog and lost her balance. She stumbled one awkward step, then two.

  Then she hit the boat rail hard and with an extra surge of effort managed to tumble right over the top.

  Maddie intended all along to scream as she fell overboard. However, the sight of an alligator slipping into the bayou not twenty feet away added realism to her shriek.