The Great Escape

“Lucy’s been taking care of people all her life,” Panda said. “It’s in her DNA.” He studied her in a way that made her uncomfortable. “She saved her kid sister. She got her parents together. Hell, if it hadn’t been for Lucy, it’s doubtful her mother would have become president.” He brushed a fly away. “You could say that by the time Lucy was fifteen, she’d changed the course of American history.”

His vision of her made her uncomfortable, and she got up from the table. “How about dessert?”

“There’s dessert?” Temple sounded as if she’d just heard that the Easter Bunny was real.

“Life is meant to be lived.”

Lucy returned from the kitchen with a square of dark chocolate that she broke into three small pieces. “You gave him more,” Temple grumbled. And then, “Forget I said that.”

But as Lucy and Temple nibbled at their own chocolate, Panda’s square remained untouched. He crushed his napkin and dropped it on his plate. “I’m handing in my resignation.”

The chocolate stuck in Lucy’s throat. Temple’s breakdown … The meal Lucy had just fixed … He’d found the excuse he’d been looking for to leave the island and, in the process, get away from her.

“Like hell you will.” Temple sucked a chocolate smear from her finger.

“You hired me to stop exactly this sort of thing,” he said calmly. “Cheese, chocolate, corn on the cob … I didn’t do my job.”

“Your job’s changed.”

His calmness evaporated. “Exactly how has it changed?”

She made a vague gesture. “I’ll figure that out.”

“Forget it!” He pushed himself up from the table and stormed across the yard toward his brooding place.

As he disappeared up the rocky slope, Temple looked at Lucy. “If you want to land this guy, you’ll have to work faster. Your time’s running out.”

“Land him? I don’t want to land him.”

“Now who’s hiding from the truth?” She reached for the chocolate he’d left, thought better of it, and tossed it over the bluff. “Patrick Shade adores you, despite his grumbling. He’s one of the sexiest men on the planet. He’s also ethical, caring, and just screwed up enough to be interesting. You’re in love with the guy.”

“I am not!”

“Now who needs a shrink?”

Lucy tossed her legs over the picnic bench and grabbed her plate. “This is the thanks I get for feeding you real food.”

“Unless you want to lose the best man you’ll ever meet, you’d better pick up your game.”

“I don’t have a game. And Ted Beaudine was the best man I ever met.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Lucy stormed toward the house. “You clean up. I’m going into town. And no more exercise the rest of the night!”

THE COMPASS SAT A BLOCK off Beachcomber Boulevard, a weather-beaten one-story building with fishing nets draped across the front and pitted brass ships’ lanterns mounted on either side of the door. A sign advertised LIVE MUSIC AND HAPPY HOUR ALL DAY.

In love with Panda? Total rubbish. She knew the difference between real love and an affair.

The interior smelled of beer and buffalo wings. More fishing nets hung on the walls, along with plastic floats, fake compasses, reproduction ship’s wheels, and a collection of bras. The wooden tables were pressed close together with an open space at the rear for the band. The bar, which had a reputation as a hangout for the younger vacation crowd, was just beginning to come alive.

Lucy watched the band tune up while she sipped a watermelon margarita. Why would Temple even think such a thing? Just because Panda was hot? So were a lot of men, maybe not to the same degree—definitely not to the same degree—but love was more than sex. Love implied common interests, an ease being with each other, a shared sense of values. Okay, so she and Panda did have some of that—a lot of that—but …

She was relieved when a beefy jock type sidled up to her. “What’s your name, foxy lady?”

“I go by Viper.”

“Like windshield viper?” He was already visibly drunk, and he blew a series of hee-haws through his nose.

“No,” she replied. “Like, if-you-piss-me-off, I’ll-kick-your-ass Viper.” She blew her own silent hee-haw.

Only as the kid backed away did it occur to her that, between her dreads, tattoos, and tough talk, she might be too scary for the average male, which kind of defeated her purpose in coming here. But as she watched jock boy retreat, she had to admit she loved the idea that goody-goody Lucy Jorik could frighten anybody away.

She’d dressed in full-out goth-skank mode: a little black skirt that barely covered her butt, a one-shoulder black halter top with a grommet border, and her only pair of heels—studded black platform mules. With her tats on full display, nose and eyebrow rings in place, heavy dark eyeliner, she definitely stood out from all the college girls in their cute little shorts and flip-flops.