Page 19 of Cursed (Decorah Security 2.0, #14)

As he spoke, he stroked his hands up and down her arms, and she found the sensations he was creating made it difficult to focus on a coherent answer. “Yes,” she managed.

“And then there’s the sexuality. If you’re knowledgeable about lovemaking, you’re pretty sure they’re locked together. But for someone more naive, it could just be a guy ready to lift a woman off a swing.”

“Except that they’re both naked,” she murmured.

He laughed. “Maybe it’s a nudist colony.”

“Right,” she quavered as he slid his lips along her cheek to her ear, his teeth and tongue playing with the delicate curl.

The sensation was exquisite. Without thinking, she threw her head back like the woman in the picture. He took advantage of the pose to slide his mouth to the side of her neck.

She wanted to turn, but he held her where she was, her body arched, her pulse pounding.

“Did you see the picture of the woman with the bowl of apples?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Another good one.” He brought his hands inward, cupping and lifting her breasts. Looking down, she saw the nipples standing out through her shirt. She knew he saw that, too, because he stroked his fingers back and forth over those aching tips.

She made a small, needy sound, asking for more. And he took his cue from her, slipping his hands under her top and stroking her through the silky fabric of her bra while he brought his mouth back to the side of her face, her ear.

“Let me turn around,” she whispered.

“Don’t you like this?”

“You know I do,” she managed, then tried to change the subject. “What are you hiding from me?”

“Not this,” he answered, pressing his erection against her bottom.

When she pressed back against him, she was rewarded by his quick indrawn breath.

He loosened his hold, and she was about to turn, when a throat-clearing sound behind them made them both jump.

“I … surely beg your … your pardon,” Janet stammered.

“What do you want?” Andre growled, his tone sharp as his hands dropped to his sides, and she was glad he was standing behind her, both of them with their backs to the door.

Janet spoke again. “I came to tell you two men have brought the car back. They want you to pay them. And they want to clear out as soon as possible.”

“I’ll be right there,” Andre muttered.

“No. I’ll do it,” Morgan managed, closing the book. Mercifully, Janet withdrew.

Morgan took a couple of deep breaths. She had told herself she was not going to get physically involved with Andre again. But all he’d had to do was sneak up behind her and start kissing her ear, and she’d been back in the same trap she’d been helpless to avoid before.

As she walked toward the front of the house, she straightened the front of her shirt. Andre followed her. Because she was angry with herself—and with him—she snapped, “Why did you destroy evidence outside last night?”

“Give me a clue. Evidence of what?”

She stopped and gave him a direct look. “I saw that jaguar in the garden. When I went out to find his tracks,” they were gone from the spot where he’d been standing. “You raked the area. I had to walk in a big circle to pick up his trail again.”

Andre’s features registered astonishment. “I didn’t rake anything.”

She stared at his face, trying to judge whether he was telling the truth or lying through his teeth. He looked genuinely shocked.

“If not you, then who?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, and this time she wasn’t so sure he was telling the truth.

“Do you have a rake—besides the one that’s locked in your shed?”

“No. But somebody could have brought one,” he added.

“Who?”

He only shrugged.

“Did you take away those cigarette butts I found?”

“No!”

Again, she studied his face. If he was lying, he was good at it.

“Let me get my purse,” she said, then detoured up the steps and into her room.

As she came back down the stairs, she saw that Andre was waiting for her inside.

Through the side light she could see her rental car—and another car—pulled to the side of the circular drive.

Two men were looking nervously around and also up at the sky—which had darkened considerably since that morning.

Another man was sitting in the extra car.

It was Bob Mansard—who stared balefully at the house.

Morgan glanced at her watch. It was late in the afternoon; the clouds were obviously making it look closer to sunset.

The men turned toward the door when they heard it open. All of them eyed her—and Andre. Mansard stayed in the car, and she wondered again if he’d been one of the men who’d followed her from town the day she’d arrived.

And one of the standing men could have been his slenderer companion, although she couldn’t be sure, because of the baseball caps they’d been wearing.

All of them were bareheaded now. The ones in the driveway looked to be in their mid-twenties, with dark hair growing a bit shaggy. One wore overalls. The other was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt.

The guy in overalls shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “We need to be getting on back,” he said, his voice coming out gruff and nervous.

“Okay. How much is the bill?”

He pulled a crumpled sheet of paper out of his overall pocket and handed it to her.

Smoothing out the wrinkles, she read the amount. It was less than she expected.

“I’d like to check the brakes, if you don’t mind,” she said.

“We have to be getting back.” Nervously, he glanced at the sky again.

“This will only take a few minutes.”

Probably if it had been between her and Mr. Overalls, he would have insisted on leaving right away. And Mansard looked like he was going to add his weight to the discussion. But when Andre took a step closer, Mr. Overalls stood back and pressed his lips together.

She fished her keys out of her purse, then strode to her car and climbed behind the wheel.

After starting the engine, she drove around the circle in front of the house, stopping every so often to make sure the car wasn’t acting the way it had on the road.

Because she couldn’t get up much speed, she started down the access road.

Behind her, she heard loud shouts of protest. When she looked back, Mr. Overalls was running after her, for all the good that was going to do him. Quickly she accelerated to thirty, then slammed on the brakes. They responded well enough, so she made a U-turn and came back to the house.

The men, especially Mansard, were looking daggers at her as she climbed out, and she almost felt sorry for them. If they were in a hurry to get back, she wasn’t helping. But she was enjoying a bit of payback. Not her usual behavior. Today she thought she was justified.

She wrote a check to the gas station, handed it over, and added a twenty-dollar bill.

“Thank you for delivering the car,” she said sweetly.

“Thank you ,” Overalls responded. Then added, “We’d best be going.”

When they had left, she turned to Andre. “Are they afraid that it’s going to rain—and there will be another flash flood.”

“Maybe. But I think they’re more worried about the cat. With the sky so dark, they may think it’s late enough for the local monster to jump out of the bushes.”

“Is it?”

“No,” he clipped out, then said, “I’ll check your car to make sure the work is satisfactory.”

“Thank you.”

“Why was Mansard along? As a bodyguard?”

“He likes excuses to come out here and stare at me … when he thinks the odds are favorable.”

“Nice.”

Andre gave a shrug, looking uncomfortable.

And now that they were alone, she felt uncomfortable, too, as she remembered what they had been doing in the library when Janet had interrupted them.

What was his reaction now? Was he sorry that he’d started something?

Or was he thinking about how quickly she’d responded.

She should remind him that they were going to keep their relationship on a professional level.

But she could hardly blame the whole incident on him.

He’d found her looking at dirty pictures, after all.

Then he’d come up behind her—close behind. And she’d welcomed his touch.

She was angry with herself for reacting to him. Angry at him for putting her in that position. And angry that the easy relationship they’d established while she was still in Beltsville had suddenly changed when she’d gotten down here.

She had planned to bombard him with questions. But now because she needed to put some distance between them, she went up to her room until dinner—where she gave herself a silent lecture on client-investigator relations.

By the time she came down, she’d determined to get things back on the right track. But to her disappointment, only two places were set at the table. Since Morgan wasn’t in the mood to spend the meal trying to make conversation with Janet, she said she was worn out and took a tray up to her room.

After checking in with Decorah Security, she turned in early—and slept through the night again.

The next day, she woke up feeling refreshed—and anxious to confront Andre with some of the questions he should already have answered—like was he keeping pet alligators out by the fallen log.

Her plans were put on hold again when he failed to appear once more. Now she knew he was avoiding her. Because he was embarrassed about yesterday? Or because he didn’t want to discuss the case he’d hired her to investigate?

“He’s gone off to cut up some trees that were uprooted in the storm,” Janet explained.

“Oh, right,” Morgan answered, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “Did he fix the oven first?”

“Yes.” The housekeeper held out a basket of cinnamon buns. “I was able to make these for you.”

Morgan instantly regretted taking out her bad mood on Janet. She had to keep remembering that the housekeeper wasn’t controlling the situation. Andre was the one making the decisions.

She took one of the buns, and the first bite told her that the lack of an oven had truly deprived her of a rare experience. “These are wonderful,” she said.

Janet beamed. “I wanted to make them for you.”

The buns put Morgan in a better mood.

After licking icing off her fingers, she got up and opened the back door, listening to the sound of a chain saw somewhere in the distance. Janet hadn’t been lying, but that didn’t explain why Andre had conceived a powerful desire to go out into the bayou and saw up logs.

She thought about marching out into the wilderness area—following the sound. Then she decided that wouldn’t do her much good. He had an excellent way to keep from engaging in conversation. All he had to do was continue sawing.

Morgan went back upstairs and got a carry bag. Then she retrieved the maps she’d hidden in the special compartment of her suitcase. As far as she could tell, nobody had found it. But there was no way to be sure.

With the map in her bag, she went down to her car and started toward St. Germaine, driving slowly, testing the brakes every half mile, making sure they were working.

When they proved reliable, she speeded up a bit, then slowed when she came to the place where the water had washed across the road and almost swept her away.

The site of the flood was very clear, and she pulled to a stop.

As she looked at the uprooted trees, logjams of man-made and natural debris and mud practically blocking the road, a clogged feeling rose in her throat.

She tried to move her foot, tried to press down on the gas pedal. But her muscles wouldn’t obey. It was like an invisible force held her in place, making it impossible for her to keep driving.

In her mind, she heard the deadly roar of onrushing water. It was coming for her again.

No. The sun was shining. She was in no danger. Not today.

Still, some part of her waited for the water to come and sweep her away. And this time, Andre couldn’t save her.

No. That was wrong. He could save her. He had saved her. He had appeared out of nowhere and dragged her to shore.

Her hands tightened on the wheel, as she fought the sensation of being pulled under and carried away. That hadn’t happened. Andre had plunged into the current and hauled her to safety.