Waters Run Deep Page 13

  Perhaps it was the guilt he’d held on to over his sister—both his guilt for leaving her alone and vestiges his father had taken to his grave. Nate was like his father in many ways. He was tough and ambitious. Driven. That same hard-assed approach had led to Della being taken. Martin Dufrene had fired Billy Priest, one of the kidnappers, setting him out of the mill in front of all the other workers. Called him a good-for-nothin’ who didn’t deserve the woman and child who’d run off weeks before. Nate’s father had set everything in motion by an unforgiving nature.

  Maybe it was a Dufrene curse, to spoil everything innocent around them, like weeds choking out beauty.

  Maybe Nate was too much like his father.

  He’d certainly lost his control like him.

  And that was something he didn’t like at all.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE NEXT DAY WAS sunshiny and happy.

  Unlike Annie.

  Of course, Spencer found this out early when he pitched a fit for a certain cereal he’d never before mentioned, but it became obvious to Annie the boy didn’t care about her grumpiness. His world consisted of Spencer and what made him happy.

  So she pasted on a tolerant face and took him outside fifteen minutes before the appointed time Nate would pick them up, mostly so she wouldn’t do or say something she regretted.

  “So are we going to see boats? Are we going to ride on one?”

  The questions made her head throb…or maybe the throb was leftover alcohol and regret from last night’s escapade.

  Picou glanced over from her place in a rocking chair. She wore yoga pants and bandana—this time purple—and her bare feet sported yellow polish on her toenails. “Yes, dear boy. Nate has already talked to a friend about a boat ride.”

  Picou’s words were tinged in…hope? Happiness? Something about the way she spoke, the spark in her odd violet eyes made Annie wonder the source of the woman’s contentment.

  Just to prove the point, Picou turned to the morning sun peeking through the oaks and took a deep breath.

  “And gators, too?” Spencer hopped up and down the front porch steps rattling the glass in the front door.

  “Stop,” Annie said.

  “Maybe,” Picou said.

  “Spencer, why don’t you color a page in your coloring book?” Annie wanted the boy to stop hopping around. It made her already queasy stomach rock harder. She’d packed several activity books, crayons and the iPod touch in the bag she carried. Nate said it would take at least an hour and a half if not longer to reach their destination.

  “’Kay.” The boy nodded, trudging up the steps.

  “Or you could kick the ball in the yard,” Picou suggested, sipping from the teacup she balanced on the arm of the chair.

  “Yes!” Spencer shouted, tripping back down the steps and lambasting the ball he’d forgotten earlier into the waxy bushes of the side of the yard.

  “That should take some piss and vinegar out of him,” Picou said. “And if that doesn’t work, you can always try Benadryl.”

  “What?”

  “Dear, you don’t want him to settle down and focus until you’re in the car. Let him expound some energy. Run, gallop and frolic the wiggles out.”

  “Oh,” Annie responded, drinking the chicory coffee Picou made each morning. At first she’d been appalled at how different the coffee tasted, but after a couple of cups, she found the flavor addictive.

  “You don’t know much about children, so why did you take up nannying?”

  Understatement of the Year.

  “I like to eat,” Annie said.

  The older woman laughed. “I don’t mean to say you’re not good with the boy. I can certainly see the affection, but you don’t, ahem, always seem to—”

  “—know what I’m doing?”

  Annie swallowed the strong brew, fleetingly thinking about caffeine and pregnancy. Her stomach lurched, and she struck the whole preposterous idea of being pregnant out of her mind and gathered her thoughts. “You’re right. I’m not the most skilled caregiver, but I’m not terrible. Don’t share your thoughts with the Keenes. I need to make a house note next month.”

  Picou shook her head. “You’re not bad. Not at all. You’ll make a fine mother someday, my dear.”

  Annie choked on the coffee. Some went up and out her nose.

  Picou leaped up and clocked her in the center of her shoulder blades—which hurt.

  “Ow.” Annie threw up a hand, coughing, but managing breath. “Okay, okay. I’m fine.”

  Picou eyed her for a moment before settling back into the rocking chair. “Goodness, child, I personally hate when things go down the wrong pipe. Didn’t mean to spook you.”

  After a final clearing of her throat, Annie waved the older woman’s words off. Too late for spooking. “I’ve never wanted children.”

  Picou raised her brows. “It’s not for some, I suppose, but I loved most of the moments.”

  Annie remained quiet, fervently hoping for a change in topic.

  “You never know what a child means until you lose one. I know better than most. And that’s what Tawny fears. I can see it in her eyes. Feel it in her words. These threats to her child have shaken her to her core.”

  “I know.”

  For a moment the two women sat in companionable silence. The only sounds were the whap, whap, whap of Spencer kicking the soccer ball.

  “Nate likes you, Annie,” Picou said.

  Annie flinched. The older woman had the uncanny ability of yanking rugs out from beneath people with cutting candor. “I— Well, that’s—”

  Picou laughed. “Yes, I know my boys. Each of them is different as the grains of sand on a beach. Or is it snowflakes? I forget which, but I know that boy, and he is very attracted to you.”

  “I know,” Annie said, taking another sip of coffee out of sheer nervousness.

  “That’s what I like about you. You’re direct and say what is on your mind. You suit him well.”

  “Mrs. Dufrene, I mean Picou, I’m honest.” Annie had to swallow after the statement, mostly because that was a bald-faced lie. She’d lied since the moment she met Picou, and she wouldn’t stop. Not until Spencer was safe from harm. “But I’m not looking for a relationship. Once filming wraps, I’ll be heading back to California.”

  “Mmm” was all the older woman said. It was an unconvinced response and Annie wanted to tell her to tuck her dreams for anything between Annie and her son away. Not going to happen. Unless…

  Annie clamped down on that thought. Then she looked down at her flat stomach. Acid sizzled in her gut and the blueberry muffin she’d choked down moments before threatened to make a curtain call. Even if she got pregnant from the results of losing her mind last night, allowing thoughts of her and Nate going somewhere more permanent felt way premature.

  The sound of a car crunching down the drive announced the arrival of the man who’d haunted her dreams, occupied her waking thoughts and, perhaps, trampled on all she had planned for her life—or rather not planned since she’d chucked that away on the last man who’d come along. Her mother’s old adage came to mind. There’s many a slip betwixt the cup and the lip. Yeah, her newest slipup came rolling to a stop in the horseshoe drive.

  Spencer abandoned the ball and ran to the shiny crossover BMW that was very different from Nate’s patrol car.

  “Hey, Spencer, ready to roll?”

  “Yeah!” Spencer gave a fist pump and yanked on the backseat handle, before being swallowed by the depths of the sporty car.

  Annie stood with a sigh and grabbed the bag at her feet.

  “Come, now. It won’t be all that bad,” Picou said, kicking her chair into motion and pulling her bare feet onto the seat. “I’ve never been on an airboat, but I believe people enjoy skimming at breakneck speed over the swampland.”

  If it were only the thought of being launched out of a speeding boat. More like the thought of being in too close quarters with a man who’d shut down and overridden any common
sense she proclaimed to have. “Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be awesome.”

  Annie’s gaze was drawn to Nate as he climbed out of the car with an easy elegance, grabbed the booster sitting on the hood of the rental car parked several yards away, and helped the wriggling puppy of a boy fasten himself into the backseat. Then he turned and walked toward where she sat with Picou on the wide porch. She tried to smile and failed.

  “Morning, Mama.” He looked at his mother, before his dark eyes came to rest on her. “Annie.”

  “Morning,” she mumbled, glancing away from the intensity present in the mahogany depths. “I’ll go pack this stuff and get Spencer set up.”

  He’d already done her job for her, but whatever. She didn’t want to stand beneath his scrutiny, didn’t want Picou to use her extraperceptive powers and figure out there was actually something pretty crazy going on between the two of them.

  She moved down the steps past Nate and headed toward his car. She heard Nate lower his voice as he talked to his mother, but she didn’t dare risk a look back for fear of revealing how much he’d affected her in the bright light of morning.

  She wanted him even more. With a gut-jerking need that shocked her. And there was no excuse for it. No vodka. No full moon. She tried to stamp down on the desire spiraling through her. She had to stop her passions from flaring out of control around that man.

  She shouldered the bag and walked to the passenger side and slid inside a car that smelled new. Vastly different from her ancient Altima parked inside the collapsing garage of her abuela’s bungalow in California. A girl could get used to plush leather and air-conditioning.

  “Ready?” Nate asked as he slid into the seat and started the car.

  “Sure,” she said, making herself small in the seat. The whole car felt filled with his presence, which would have been fine if she didn’t have that whole wanting-him thing going…and if they hadn’t accidently had sex the night before.

  “Are we almost there?” Spencer asked.

  Nate laughed, breaking the tension. He looked over at Annie. “He does realize we’re not moving yet?”

  “Instant gratification is his middle name.” Annie glanced over her shoulder. “First we have to actually drive, Spence.”

  “Oh, yeah. I know,” he said, waving to Picou as Nate backed out of the drive.

  Annie pointed to the dashboard clock, which read 8:58. “See this number?”

  Spencer nodded.

  “When it gets to…” She glanced over at Nate.

  “10:35,” he said.

  She quirked an eyebrow. “When it gets to 11:00, we’ll be there. Now here are your crayons, activity book and iTouch. Make yourself busy.”

  She passed the bag back to the child and watched as he pulled the iPod touch out, put on the headphones and started flinging birds at pigs on the small screen.

  She faced forward and adjusted the seat belt as Nate turned onto the highway. They drove for several minutes, reaching the quaint town of Bayou Bridge with its plethora of antiques stores, coffee shops and occasional Acadian restaurants. Five minutes later they were heading south down Highway 31 toward the interstate. The landscape along the road changed constantly from wooded swampland to sweeping pastureland, giving way to periodic moss-draped marshes. Once they hit the interstate, the scenery blurred and the smoothness of the ride briefly lulled Annie into sleepy contemplation.

  “I shouldn’t be long in Galliano,” Nate said, pulling her from watching the horizon.

  “Okay,” she said, wanting to ask his purpose for going to wherever it was they were heading.

  “I have to do a quick interview with someone and get a DNA sample then we can take Spencer on the airboat ride.”

  “Fine.”

  He pulled his gaze from the broken yellow line and looked at her. “You okay?”

  She shrugged. “Sure.”

  She felt the doubt in his eyes even though she stared out at the rushing scenery. The air thickened and she tugged at the top buttons of the cotton blouse she wore. She didn’t want to talk about what happened last night. Maybe if they didn’t talk about it, they could pretend it away.

  “This doesn’t feel okay.”

  She turned toward him. “What do you want me to say?”

  One hand dangled over the steering wheel and she couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses he wore. He looked exactly what he was—smart, sexy and unreadable. “I don’t know. Something besides ‘sure’ and ‘okay.’ I’m feeling like a dentist here.”

  “A dentist?”

  “Pulling teeth.”

  She shook her head and glanced back at Spencer before lowering her voice. “What we did was crazy and I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want that bit of lunacy to define everything between us now.”

  “But it does.”

  “But it doesn’t have to. We’re both professionals who lost all good sense last night along with a few choice pieces of clothing. We screwed up. It won’t happen again. End of story.”

  “But—”

  She threw a hand up. “No buts. I don’t want to feel like a damn ticking time bomb. Please.”

  He nodded. “Fine.”

  She crossed her arms. “Good.”

  Annie angled the vents away and tried to find some inner peace deep inside herself. Her abuela had once told her she could find calm in the middle of a storm merely by snatching a piece of stillness from her soul, but at that moment, Annie could find nothing to make things better.

  “So tell me about this case. Why do you have to go so far? Shouldn’t the authorities there be able to do the sample for you?”

  She didn’t miss the tightening in his shoulders. “Nothing much to tell. This is an old case and more of a personal issue.”

  Personal issue? DNA testing? Questions tumbled around in her mind, but she remained silent.

  He glanced her way. “So you want to tell me about your case?”

  She straightened. He knew. Well, of course he did. He wasn’t stupid. “I think you already know about my case.”

  Nate’s lips curved north. Good Lord, the man was sexy when he smiled. Her libido did a little dance, but she kicked it back into the closet. She knew he’d suspected her as something more than a generic caregiver since the moment he’d met her. Time to come totally clean…and hopefully get some help with the threat to the child.

  Annie sighed. “You’re not stupid. I know you went digging for info on me the night after we met, and you didn’t find anything. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Annie Perez should have had a trail a mile long. You probably blew right past that phony Nevada real-estate site.”

  Nate glanced her way. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Well, I hope you don’t think I’m in on a kidnapping plot.”

  “That’s not what I’m thinking,” he said, gliding into the fast lane, passing a line of eighteen-wheelers laden with pipes and industrial tools. The signs around them told her they were close to Morgan City. The travel book she’d read on Louisiana several weeks ago had told her the small city was the hub of the oil industry in the state.

  She tore her gaze from the evidence that proved the guide true—heliports, shipyards and tool yards—lining either side of the interstate and looked at him. “So what are you thinking?”

  “You could be someone running away from an abusive boyfriend, a crime you committed, or debt, but I don’t think that’s the reason you’re hiding who you are.”

  He looked at her again, the pause an invitation for her to spill, but she didn’t take the bait. She wanted to know his thoughts.

  “You remain calm when others don’t. You’re logical, assertive when needed, but good at fading into the background and observing. Extremely fit, highly analytical and you know the lingo, so I’m betting on one of two things. Either you’re a federal officer and this is far more serious than what I’ve been led to believe or you’re a P.I.”

  Annie raised her eyebrows. The man was good, at many things, but it wa
s obvious he made the grade as an investigator. He was young for a detective, especially one who’d attended medical school. She still wanted to find out about that little tidbit, but she had enough on her plate with the current topic. “Whatever I tell you needs to remain confidential.”

  “Of course.”

  “I mean ‘between you and me’ confidential.”

  He slid his eyes over to her. “Lots between you and me that will remain confidential, cherie.”

  “Touché,” Annie murmured, getting a slight tingle at the traditional Cajun endearment on his lips. She glanced back to make sure Spencer still wore his earphones. He did, but they weren’t necessary, not if his bobbing head and soft snoring were any indication. “I’m both. Kind of.”

  She paused, unwilling to reveal she’d left the bureau because she’d taken a chance on love. Sounded, well, stupid. “My name is Anna Mendes, but my mother called me Annie. I’m formerly with the FBI. Recently employed by Sterling Investigations and Security in Los Angeles. Actually, protecting Spencer is my first assignment for the firm.”

  “FBI, huh?” Nate said, crossing a large bay-like canal and continuing farther south. “I can see that. Why’d you leave?”

  “Personal reasons. But that doesn’t matter. What does matter is I’m working on this case, same as you.”

  “So why not tell me in the first place? Why all the subterfuge? We could have saved a lot of time.” His voice held a tinge of irritation.

  She sighed. “Why do you think? I’m supposed to be undercover, Nate.”

  “But why not tell me?”

  She glanced over at him. Okay, he seemed peeved. “I didn’t know you. Didn’t know how you would react. You do know how law enforcement treats private investigators?”

  He shrugged. “Like conspiracy theorists.”

  “That well?” Her laugh was bitter. But she understood. Most private investigators were overweight guys who couldn’t hack it in law enforcement. Their chief bread and butter came from peeping out from behind bushes catching cheating spouses for divorce attorneys. Most law-enforcement agencies avoided them like week-old liverwurst. But the standard P.I. was very, very far away from the sophisticated powerhouse that was Sterling Investigations.