Page 32 of The Great Escape (Wynette, Texas 7)

“You think I’d make up my name?”

“In a heartbeat.” She shoved her thumbs into the straps of her backpack. “Where do you live? Because you definitely don’t live in that house we just left.”

“I have a place in Chicago. And if you want to know more, you have to get off the ferry.”

She did want to know more, but not as much as she wanted payback. “I’ll admit I’m curious. But I’m not getting off.” The whistle blew its final warning. “If you want to talk to me, we can talk right here. But first I need to find the ladies’ room so I can throw up.”

He decided not to push her. “All right. We’ll talk here.”

“See if you’re competent enough to find us a place to sit where everybody won’t stare at you.” She headed into the ship’s cabin, knocking her backpack against a fire extinguisher as she ducked around a corner. She wedged through the door on the other side and raced down the ramp just as they were getting ready to pull it up. Moments later, she was standing in the shadows by the municipal dock sign, watching the ferry chug away with Panda on board.

Knowing she’d gotten the best of him felt good, but it would have felt even better if she weren’t stuck here until that same ferry returned, undoubtedly bringing Panda along with it. This was the kind of situation Meg got caught up in, not Lucy, but she couldn’t regret it. At least she’d recovered a small measure of pride.

The dark gray SUV with Illinois plates she’d last seen at the lake house was parked in the municipal lot. She had an afternoon to kill until she could leave again, and she wasn’t doing it in town.

As she biked back to the house, she passed a playground. She’d carried her infant sister ten blocks to a playground like this the day after their mother had died just so she could push Tracy in a baby swing—a fourteen-year-old’s idea of what a good mother should do. Tracy had screamed the whole time.

Patrick Shade … What kind of name was that?

If she chartered a boat to take her to the mainland, she wouldn’t have to see him again. Expensive, but worth it. She turned the bike around and went back to the dive shop.

“We’re booked for the rest of the day,” the guy behind the counter told her. “The Mary J and Dinna Ken are out, too. But if you want to go tomorrow …”

“That’s okay,” she said, even though it wasn’t okay at all.

Maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with Panda again. She’d made her point, and he wasn’t the kind of man who explained himself more than once.

The house smelled faintly of cooking gas and the hamburger she’d made for dinner last night. How could he own a place like this and not put a single personal mark on it? She traded in the combat boots for flip-flops, grabbed a book she’d picked up in town yesterday, and carried it down the rickety steps.

He’d pulled the kayak up on shore. She sat on the edge of the dock, but she couldn’t read, couldn’t do anything except try to quell her panic. What would she do once she was back on the mainland? Where would she go?

A noise distracted her. She looked up and saw a man who definitely wasn’t Panda coming down the steps from the house. He was tall, with a large frame. The steps were wobbly and he took his time, his carefully styled light brown hair glistening with an undoubtedly expensive hair product. “Hey there!” he called out cheerfully.

Although he was good-looking, everything about him was a little too loud—his voice, the crest on the pocket of his designer sports coat, the heavy gold bracelet and big college ring any intelligent man would have gotten rid of after his frat boy days ended. “I heard Panda’s back on the island,” he said, taking in her tattoo and hair as he came toward her on the dock. “But nobody answered the door.”

“He’s not here.”

“Too bad.” With a broad smile, he thrust out his hand. “I’m Mike Moody. Big Mike. I’ll bet you’ve seen my signs.”

She shook his hand, then regretted it as the pungent scent of his cologne clung to her skin.

“Big Mike’s Island Brokerage,” he said. “Anybody who buys or sells property on this island—house or boat, big or small. Hell, I’ve even sold a couple of horses. I take care of it all.” His straight teeth had an iridescence achievable only in a dental chair. “I sold Panda this house.”

“Did you?”

“I didn’t catch your name.”

“I … go by Viper.”

“No kidding. That’s some name. You’re one of the hippie girls.” Like a good salesman, he sounded more admiring than critical.

“Goth,” she replied, which was beyond ridiculous.

“Yeah, that’s right.” He nodded. “I stopped because I’ve got a boat I thought Panda might be interested in.”

Lucy was a big believer in being cooperative, but Viper didn’t share her principles. “Come back after the six o’clock ferry gets in. I know he’ll want to talk to you about it. Maybe bring a pizza along. That way the two of you can have a long chat.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Big Mike said. “Panda’s a great guy. I don’t know him well, but he seems like an interesting character.”

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