The Crush Part 42

"s.h.i.+t. Almost forgot."

He had to put his s.h.i.+rt back on so he could clip the mike inside the collar and hide the thin cable to the earpiece.

He stuck his handgun into the waistband of the shorts. It was covered by his long s.h.i.+rttail.

Holding hands, they walked to the sh.o.r.e and waded into the strong tide of the Gulf. It was twilight. Only a few stragglers were on the beach. "Afraid of sharks?" he asked.

"In water this shallow?"

"That's where most attacks occur."

"Don't we have a better chance of getting struck by

lightning?"

"Or getting popped by Lozada."

She tugged on his hand, pulling him to a stop. When he was facing her, she said, "He was lying, Wick. Those things he said were not true."

"Shh." Apparently someone was speaking to him through the earpiece. He pulled her into a close embrace and nuzzled her neck. "There's a man moving at seven clock, but don't turn around. Keep up the act.

But if something happens, if all h.e.l.l breaks loose, you hit the surf, Rennie. Got that?"

She nodded.

He angled back, but kept his hands loosely on her waist. The current surged against their legs. Their bodies swayed together. For balance, he a.s.sumed a wider stance, placing her feet between his. He kissed her cheek just beneath her ear. His hands moved down to her hips.

Another wave caught them just behind the knees. Reflexively she reached for him so she wouldn't lose her balance.

She could feel the tension in his biceps. He was playing his role well, but he was primed for action.

Then he said, "Not our man."

It had been a false alarm, but they remained as they were, with her hands resting on his upper arms and his on her bottom. Beneath her feet, the sand s.h.i.+fted with the current. She felt like she was losing ground and that the only solid thing in the universe at the moment was Wick's blue stare.

"He was lying, Wick."

"I know. I--"

"Do you?"

"For a few minutes there--"

"You believed him."

"Not really. Okay, for maybe half a second he had me going. He probably guessed that you were listening and said those things to embarra.s.s you. But even if you weren't listening, he knew they would rile me. And they did. He got to me, and I acted like a jacka.s.s. I realized it about ninety seconds later, but was--"

"Too bull-headed to admit it."

"Am I allowed to complete a sentence here?"

"I'm sorry. What did you want to say?"

"I wanted to say that the way he talked about you is reason enough for me to want to kill him. And that..."

"What?"

"That I'm going to kiss you now and make it look like I mean it."

He dipped his head and settled his mouth on hers.

His tongue slipped easily past her lips and moved against

hers in what felt like a mating ritual, ancient and elemental.

A wave took her unawares from behind and pushed her against him. Middles b.u.mped together. And stayed.

"Oh man," he groaned. His Fingers flexed tighter on her hips, held her firmly against him.

A burst of heat spread through her center. It all felt too good. So she pulled back. "Wick, I can't. . ." The words stuck in her throat. "I can't keep my balance."

He set her away from him. "That's enough for now anyway."

But as they walked back toward the house, his face was hard and set, his stride was long and angry, and she didn't believe for an instant that it had been enough.

Chapter 29.

They were so ridiculously transparent.

Did those undercover yahoos think he wouldn't spot them? They might just as well be wearing neon vests. The stocky b.i.t.c.h and her hairy companion sweeping their metal detector across the sand. Please. And the fat guy fis.h.i.+ng from the pier. His hat was too new and his technique too clumsy. The three guys and a girl having a tailgate cookout were working way too hard at having a good time.

The others were just as obvious.

Lozada had spotted them all from the pa.s.senger seat of the realtor's van. She was fiftyish, friendly, and eager to please. He had seen the billboard advertising her as Galveston Island's most successful real estate broker. He had called her from his car.

Thanks to Weenie Sawyer's research, he knew the location of Wick's house. He mentioned the vicinity to the realtor as an area where he was interested in buying a lot on which to build a beach house for his wife and four chil

dren. He had requested a late evening appointment. They had met at her office and she had driven him here in one of the company's vans. The logo painted on the side was a familiar sight; it was plastered all over the island. Police wouldn't give the van a second glance.

Now, while she prattled on about the excellent investment opportunities of beachfront property, Lozada picked out the cops on the beach.

He dismissed them as insignificant amateurs and focused on Rennie and Wick. Walking in the surf. Holding hands. How sweet. How romantic. All staged to draw him out and slap him with some trumped-up charge.

But what really rankled was that this newfound romance of theirs wasn't just a futile police operation, as he had originally thought. It was real and, as such, it was an affront.

His blood pressure soared when he saw Wick groping her. Even from this distance he could tell their kiss wasn't playacting. Which only affirmed that Rennie was a wh.o.r.e.

She had been a wh.o.r.e from her youth. She had spread her legs for every lout in that miserable little town where she'd grown up, and now she was spreading them for Wick Threadgill, days after Lozada had professed his affection.

He sorely regretted that now. Why hadn't he realized sooner that she was a wh.o.r.e, undeserving of him and his attention?

He had been tricked by her. During his trial she had noticed his attraction and had played games with him. She had used her cool, aloof demeanor to taunt him and make herself desirable.

Well he didn't want her anymore. She had proved herself unworthy.

Oh, he still wanted to f.u.c.k her. And when he did, he

would make it hurt. By the time he got through with her she would understand that n.o.body toyed with Lozada and got away with it. Maybe he would force Threadgill to watch. Oh, yes. Threadgill would pay dearly for taking what Lozada had claimed as his.

"Mr. Smith?"

"Yes?"

"I asked if you had prearranged financing."

He'd almost forgotten that the realtor was there. He turned to her and thought seriously about snapping her neck. Quickly and painlessly she would be dead and he would have let off some steam. But he had never let spontaneity overrule sound judgment. He was better disciplined than that.

Answering as the mild-mannered Mr. Smith, he said, "Financing would be no problem."

"Excellent." She launched into the next phase of her sales pitch.

He would have to wrap up this appointment soon.

From the safety of the van he had seen everything he needed to see. Twilight had turned into full-blown darkness, his favorite time. He looked forward to the busy night ahead.

"How was your steak?"

"Perfect."

"Glad you liked it." Wick propped his forearms on the edge of the table and rolled the gla.s.s of wine between his

palms. "The Merlot was a good choice."

"Yes, it was."

"Can't say much for the gla.s.s." His collection of mismatched gla.s.sware hadn't included wine balloons, so they'd drunk from juice gla.s.ses.

"I didn't mind."

He swirled the ruby liquid in the gla.s.s. "Know what I think?"

"What?"

"If this were a blind date, it would be a bust."

She smiled ruefully. "It's hard to make casual conversation when you're on display. I feel like a goldfish."

They had sat out on the deck while the steaks were grilling and the potatoes were baking on the coals. They had sipped wine, said little, listened to the swish of the surf.

The glider had squeaked each time Rennie's bare foot gave it a gentle push. Those shorts made her legs look about nine miles long. There were small dots of salt on her thighs where splashes of seawater had dried. Wick's attention had often strayed there.

A young dog had wandered up to the deck, no doubt attracted by the aroma of the cooking meat. She got down on his level, scratched him behind the ears, and laughed the laugh of a child when he tried to lick her face. She played with him until his master whistled sharply. He charged off obediently, but then stopped and looked back at her wistfully, as though he hated to leave her, before disappearing into the darkness to rejoin his owner.

About every five minutes the undercovers would check in with Peterson, one by one. He could hear them in his earpiece. If Lozada was anywhere on Galveston Island, he was remaining invisible. He wasn't registered at any hotel, motel, or bed-and-breakfast. Wick wasn't surprised.

Peterson gave him signals to send them. "If y'all are okay in there, scratch your nose." Put your right hand in your pocket. Stretch. Stuff like that. But it reached the point where he could tune out the voices in his ear. If an

emergency arose, he would react appropriately, but for the time being he minded the bacon-wrapped filets and spent the rest of the time looking at Rennie.

When the steaks were done, they brought the meal indoors.

Once while they were eating, her bare foot had made contact with his calf beneath the table. She hadn't excused herself for the accidental touch, which was progress of a sort. But she hadn't acknowledged it either.

She pretended it hadn't happened.