The Great Escape

Chapter Twenty-one

PANDA CRUMPLED THE NOTE SHE’D written and tossed it in the trash, but throwing the damned thing away didn’t erase it from his mind.

Thank you for everything you did for me last night. I’ll never forget it. I’ve gone to the cottage to stay with Bree for a while and try to get a fresh perspective. I’m glad you told me about your brother.

L.

What the hell? Not even a Dear Panda or a Yours sincerely? The message it delivered was loud and clear. She wanted him to leave her alone. Which he was more than happy to do.

He slammed the cupboard door, trying not to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t gone back to the bar last night. By the time he’d reached his boat at the marina, his temper had cooled just enough that he’d started to worry about her again. He’d made up his mind to get her out of that bar, no matter what she said.

He splashed coffee into his mug, decent coffee because he’d made it. He had work to do, and he forced himself into the den, where he booted up his computer. After he’d left her last night, he’d gone with the local cops to locate the two scumbags who’d attacked her. He’d known the water wasn’t deep enough to drown them when he’d tossed them in, and sure enough, it hadn’t taken long to find them staggering back to the bar to get their bikes. No surprise either, there were warrants out on both of them, which made it easier to convince the police chief to keep Lucy’s name out of it.

He couldn’t concentrate on work, and he pushed himself back from the desk-old man Templeton’s desk, although he’d stopped thinking so much about that. He decided to go up to the gym and take out his frustration on Temple. If she hadn’t talked him into coming here, none of this would have happened.

But he set off for the lake instead. Be the best at what you’re good at and stay away from what you’re not. Right now, caring too much about the daughter of the president of the United States topped the list of everything he wasn’t good at.

THE ORGANIST WAS PLAYING A familiar hymn, although Bree couldn’t recall its name. She smiled at a woman she’d spoken with during last week’s coffee hour. Bree was growing to love Heart of Charity Missionary. Although she still sometimes felt like an outsider, the emotion-filled service gave her comfort. She wished Lucy had come along this morning, but after Lucy had shed her tattoos, Bree had cut her hair, trying to camouflage the areas where she’d chopped off her dreads, and now Lucy was too recognizable.

When Bree had stepped out of the honey house and seen Lucy standing there so pale and bruised, she’d thought Panda had beaten her. Lucy had quickly disabused her of that notion with a brief, disturbing account of what had happened at The Compass, but she hadn’t said much more, and Bree wasn’t pressing her.

Toby turned around in the pew, and she saw why he hadn’t given her his normal flack about going to church. “You came!” he said in a loud whisper as Mike settled next to him.

“Sure I did.” Even though temperatures were already in the low eighties, he wore a light tan sports coat, pale blue dress shirt, and a blue-and-brown-striped necktie. She wasn’t exactly sure when he’d discarded his big college ring and ostentatious gold bracelet. She’d never mentioned either one, no matter how much she’d wanted to, but they were gone. He also smelled great. Like good shaving cream.

He nodded politely at Bree, whatever amorous feelings he’d once harbored for her clearly gone. She studied him as he looked away, something she’d been doing a lot of over the past two weeks. She couldn’t feel good about the way she was using him. By acting friendly and pretending she’d forgotten about the past just so he’d be there for her if she needed him, she was the worst kind of hypocrite.

Since the night he’d appeared at Dogs ’N’ Malts, he’d become a regular visitor to the cottage. Sharing a few meals with him hadn’t been as difficult as she’d thought. He spent most of the time talking to Toby. He treated her politely, but that was all. No more apologies, no more references to the past. He was a man who’d said his piece and didn’t repeat himself. She’d even gone out on the boat with him and Toby after Lucy had insisted on watching the farm stand.

To her surprise, it had been the best day of her summer. The three of them had dived into the lake together. Mike was an excellent swimmer, and Toby loved horsing around with him. She’d watched the flex of Mike’s shoulders as he’d tossed Toby in the water and felt the most peculiar stirring, like an embryonic chick who’d grown just big enough to make the first small crack in its shell. Later that day, while the boat bobbed at anchor and they munched on junk food, she’d had to fight back tears just because Toby had reminded her to put on more sunscreen.

Deacon Miller rose to welcome the congregation. She and Toby no longer warranted a special introduction, but Mike was a newcomer. “We are so blessed to have you with us today, Mike,” Deacon Miller said. “We all remember how you helped us buy our new organ.”

The congregation broke out in a lusty chorus of amens.

“It was the least I could do after all those potlucks,” Mike said, displaying none of the discomfort she’d felt during her first visit. “Best church food on the island.”

Agreeing nods all around. Wasn’t there anybody who didn’t like him?

Pastor Sanders rose for the opening prayer. Her products had only been in his gift shop for two weeks, but her lotions and honey were selling well enough that he’d asked for more-only a small order because Labor Day was near, but an order nonetheless.

As bad luck would have it, his sermon that morning centered on forgiveness, a subject that reminded her of Mike.

“I’m a religious man,” he’d said. “I believe in sin, and I believe in repentance. I’ve made amends as best as I know how, but it hasn’t changed anything.”

“And it won’t,” she’d told him.

Sitting here in this sacred place, she no longer felt so righteous.

When the service was over, Toby attached himself to Mike, and Mike worked the crowd, just as he’d done at the Episcopal church. He knew everyone, and everyone knew him. He introduced her to members she’d yet to meet, including one of the real estate agents who worked for him and several former clients.

It was finally time to leave, and they stepped out into the blazing late morning sun. “Is it okay if I take Toby to see my new dog?” Mike said, once again forgetting to ask her these kinds of things when Toby wasn’t listening.

Toby’s eyes immediately lit up. The abandoned puppy had been a frequent topic of conversation between them. Toby had tried to dissuade Mike from turning it over to a rescue group on the mainland. In the end, Toby had won. “You’ve got to come, too, Bree,” he declared before she said he could go. “Can she, Mike?”

She tugged on one of her hoop earrings, not looking at Mike. “I should… get back and relieve Lucy.”

Toby grew mulish. “Lucy already told you she’d stay all morning.”

Once again, she’d set herself up as the bad guy. She was sick of it. “You’re right. I’d love to see the dog.”

Toby grinned and raced down the sidewalk. “I’m riding with Mike.”

Mike gazed at her. He’d slipped on his sunglasses, so she couldn’t see his eyes. “You don’t have to go with us.”

“I know that.” She couldn’t bring herself to say that she almost wanted to go. “But Toby wants me to, so I will.”

Mike gave a brusque nod and went off to join Toby, leaving her to trail after them in her own car.

Mike’s luxurious log home sat far above the lake on the island’s less populated west side. Each level held a porch or balcony built of varnished logs. Mike led them around to the back, where a long wooden table big enough to hold a dozen people sat in the shade of the covered patio. As Bree took in the lake view, Mike went inside and, a few moments later, reappeared with the puppy, an adorable short-haired mutt sporting alarmingly oversize paws.

She couldn’t hold back a smile as she watched Toby and the dog get reacquainted. “I wonder how Dr. King would feel about having a dog named after him?” she said.

Mike pretended to take her comment seriously. Or at least she thought he was pretending. “Martin’s an exceptional dog. I think Dr. King would be okay with it.”

“You’re keeping the dog because of Toby, aren’t you?”

Mike merely shrugged.

She needed Mike a lot more than he needed her, and she pressed on. “He was upset about his friends not coming back. Thank you for volunteering to break the news. Martin has really helped cheer him up.”

He tossed his sports coat over the nearest chair. His tan dress shirt was virtually unwrinkled, with none of the sweat rings under his arms the day’s heat should have produced. “I might as well tell you that I put my foot in it again,” he said, not quite looking at her as he loosened his tie. “I wanted to give him something to look forward to, so…” His faintly guilty expression wasn’t encouraging. “I asked him if he’d take care of Martin whenever I leave the island.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

He pulled off the tie. “The logistics.”

She got it. Mike lived too far away for Toby to bike to his house, especially in the winter, and it would be impractical for Bree to drive him back and forth several times a day. “So the dog will have to stay with us at the cottage,” she concluded.

“Sorry,” he said. “I should have asked you first.”

She made herself nod even as she eyed Martin’s enormous paws with a sense of foreboding. “It’s okay,” she said.

Toby wrestled the puppy for a stick. He was outgrowing his only pair of decent pants, and it wouldn’t be long before he needed shoes. She pushed the thought away. “Tell me about your house.”

“It’s one of the most expensive on the island, one of the biggest-” He stopped, his customary enthusiasm deserting him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to brag. When you sell real estate, you get used to lining up your talking points.”

She was surprised that he’d recognized how he was coming off, but he seemed more tired than embarrassed. She didn’t know what to make of that, so she asked to see the inside of the house.

Mike tossed Toby a dog leash. “How about taking Martin for a walk while I show Bree around?”

As Toby clipped the leash to the pup’s collar, Bree followed Mike through the glass doors. They stepped into an enormous great room with log walls, a high-beamed ceiling, and a massive stone fireplace. The magazine-worthy decor was both masculine and comfortable, with a color scheme of chocolate, cinnamon, and bittersweet. Old-fashioned snowshoes, topographic maps, and forged iron wall sconces hung on one wall; a big picture window with a view of the lake occupied another. A round coffee table rested in front of a deep leather couch draped with a black-and-gold-checked Pendleton blanket. The hearth held a twig firewood basket and a roughly carved wooden statue of a black bear.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“I always wanted a North Woods house. Cool and dark in the summer. Warm and comfortable in the winter.”

“Pure Michigan.” She smiled. “I’d say you accomplished your goal.”

“I hired a decorator. A great guy. He and his partner visit once a year and throw out the kind of stuff I tend to pick up on my own. I still can’t figure out what’s wrong with a couple of U2 posters and a stuffed carp.” His eyes were laughing at her, but as she smiled back, he looked away. “The truth is, I don’t have what you call first-class taste, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

True. Mike only had first-class kindness. “It’s a big house for a bachelor,” she said.

“I had a family in mind when I built it. I was engaged at the time.”

That surprised her, although it shouldn’t have. A man as attractive and successful as Mike wouldn’t have trouble finding women-at least women who hadn’t known him when he was younger. “Anyone I know?” she asked.

“No.” He nudged an ottoman out of the way so she wouldn’t have to step around it. “Her family summers in Petoskey. Breaking that engagement was the hardest thing I ever did.”

“You broke the engagement?”

“You figure I was the one who got dumped, right?”

“No. Not at all.” That’s exactly what she’d thought. “I just didn’t know you’d ever been engaged.”

“We had different values. She didn’t like island life or most of my local friends. But she had good qualities, too.”

“Just not enough for you to marry her.”

He refused to put down his former fiancée. “She took it hard. I still feel bad about it.”

And he would. The adult Mike Moody didn’t like hurting people. Maybe he never had.

He reached up to open his collar button, a simple gesture, but so completely masculine that she felt a little queasy. The sensation threw her off so much that she asked a question she’d never otherwise have posed. “Have there been a lot of women?”

“A lot? No. As much as I enjoy sex, I never slept with a woman I didn’t care about. If that makes me an oddball, I can live with it.”

It didn’t make him an oddball; it made him a decent guy. But she still wished he hadn’t brought up sex. All right, so she was the one who’d brought it up, but he didn’t have to give her any details. She wanted to believe he…

She didn’t know what she wanted to believe, and she was glad when his cell rang.

“A client,” he said, glancing at the display. “I have to take this.”

He retreated to the next room. She studied the untidy pile of books on the table. John Steinbeck, Kurt Vonnegut, a couple of motivational books, the Bible. There were some newsmagazines, Sports Illustrated, GQ. Everything looked as though it had been read, and she seemed to remember Mike trapping David into more than one conversation about books.

Through the glass doors, she could see him in the next room talking on the phone. He was the only consistent male role model in Toby’s life, the closest thing Toby had to a big brother. Or a father. She could no longer doubt Mike’s affection for Toby, but would it last? How would Toby react if Mike disengaged himself?

Each day it became more difficult to get her bearings. She could no longer tell what was self-serving about Mike and what was genuine. But she did know what was self-serving about herself… She felt a flush of shame.

He finished his phone conversation and rejoined her, but it quickly became evident that he was more interested in getting back to Toby and the dog than he was in talking to her.

LUCY SAT ON AN OLD beach towel she’d spread under a cherry tree in the neighboring orchards just out of sight of the cottage. For three days, she’d been checking the local news, but she’d seen nothing about bodies washing ashore, so she assumed the thugs who’d attacked her had survived. Too bad. Today she’d cranked the extractor, bottled honey, and cooked, but before she started tonight’s dinner, she’d slipped away to spend a little time here, lying on her back and looking at the clouds through the branches.

One of Bree’s bees landed in a spot of clover not far from her arm and dipped its proboscis into the heart of a flower. As bruises from her attack had begun to fade, everything that had been so murky was becoming clear. For years she’d lived in a skin that didn’t fit her, but the skin she’d adopted this summer had proved to be just as wrong. Had she really thought that slapping on a few tattoos and playing at being fearless would somehow transform her into the free spirit she wanted to be? This summer had been nothing more than a fantasy. Panda was nothing more than a fantasy.

She rolled to her side. Her arm looked different without its rose and thorn ink, like it belonged to someone else. She picked up the pristine pad of yellow paper that lay next to her. This time she didn’t feel like running off to bake bread or take the kayak out. Instead she sat up, balanced the pad on one knee, clicked her ballpoint pen, and finally began to write in earnest.

A lot of what happened that summer, you already know. The way Nealy, Mat, Tracy, and I met has been widely documented by journalists, scholars, biographers, a few novelists, and an awful television movie. But it’s always Nealy and Mat’s story, with me in a supporting role. Since this is my father’s book about Nealy, you might expect more of the same, but I can’t write about my mother without writing about myself…

PANDA STEPPED UP HIS WORKOUTS to mark off the hours until he could finally leave the island. When he wasn’t lifting weights or out for a run, he worked around the house. He repaired the broken screen on the back porch, fixed a couple of rotted windowsills, and talked to half a dozen potential clients on the phone. It was Wednesday. Lucy had only been gone since Friday, but it felt like weeks. He’d driven by the farm stand a couple of times, but he’d seen only Toby or Sabrina West, never Lucy. Every part of him yearned to stalk over to the cottage and drag her back here where she belonged.

He glanced out the window. Temple was down on the dock again. It had been so long since she’d made a snarky remark that he was starting to worry about her. She wasn’t working out as much these days, and she barely spoke. He needed Lucy here to talk to her. To talk to him. For all Lucy’s complaining that he never told her anything, she could read his mind better than anyone.

What if she wasn’t taking care of that cut on her heel? And for all he knew, she might have a concussion. A dozen things could be happening to her over there, none of them good. Bree knew who Lucy was, and he suspected Mike Moody did, too. All either of them had to do was make one phone call and the press would be swarming. He wanted Lucy where he could watch her, damn it. And take her to bed.

He’d always been a serial monogamist. He was used to going long periods without a woman, and sooner or later he’d get used to this. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to feel her moving under him, over him, hear the catch of her breath, the soft moans, the entreaties. He wanted to hold her. Taste her. Make her laugh. He wanted to talk to her, really talk.

That brought him up short. She was too damned softhearted. If he really talked to her, she might start thinking about his well-being instead of her own. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

BREE HEADED BACK TO THE cottage from the farm stand. Lucy had disappeared, and Toby was on duty. He complained bitterly about being overworked, but Bree had turned mean lately, and she’d told him she liked making kids suffer.

“Make sure you don’t get shortchanged,” she’d reminded him.

He’d given her one of his looks, since they both knew he was quicker with numbers, and she was far more likely to have that happen to her.

She’d been halfway down the drive when something had made her stop and call back to him. “Hey, punk!”

“What do you want now?”

“Your mom was really good at math, too,” she’d said.

He’d stood completely still before he turned away. “Whatever.”

Despite his phony nonchalance, Bree knew he loved hearing about his parents, and she’d been dredging up every story she could remember.

She couldn’t recall exactly when she’d stopped wanting to reach for her cigarettes whenever she thought about David. The pain and that aching sense of regret had faded so gradually she’d barely noticed.

Just before she reached the honey house, she heard a rustle. Branches moved in one of the clump maples that bordered the woods. There was no breeze this afternoon, so it could have been a squirrel, but-

The branches swayed again, and she caught a glimpse of a woman-a tourist who’d lost her way? She went to investigate.

A particularly foul stream of curses assailed her ears as she pushed through the weeds. She came upon a dark-haired woman trying to disentangle her purple yoga pants from the blackberry brambles. As soon as the woman looked up, Bree experienced a jolt of recognition. First Lucy Jorik had popped up and now Temple Renshaw? What was going on? She hurried over to help.

The woman tugged at the knit fabric of her pants. “Why would you keep something this vicious around?”

Bree descended to teen-speak. “Uh, like for the blackberries?”

Renshaw snorted, then cursed again and sucked a scratch on the back of her hand.

Bree knew her from Fat Island, a show she hated but that Scott had loved. He’d taken pleasure in the way Temple tormented the contestants, boasted about his own fitness, and drooled over the vapid, bikini-clad psychiatrist who supposedly counseled them. “That is one hot shrink,” he’d said more than once. “If you had tits like hers, I’d be a happy man.”

Instead of telling him that if he had a shred of decency, she’d be a happy woman, she’d nursed her hurt in silence.

Finally free of the brambles, Temple gazed past Bree toward the cottage. “I’m looking for a friend.”

Bree was immediately on guard. “Friend?”

“Black hair. Tattoos. Chubby thighs.”

Temple could only be talking about Lucy-although Lucy had great legs-but Bree wasn’t giving out any information. “Chubby thighs?”

Temple climbed through the weeds toward the cottage, not waiting for an invitation. “A lot of women carry weight there. It’s so unnecessary.”

Bree followed her, both put off by her high-handed manner and curious. As Temple reached the yard, she took in the hives and the ripening tomatoes in the garden. She wore no makeup to hide the hollows under her eyes, and her hair, long and lustrous on-screen, was pulled into a haphazard ponytail. The muscles and tendons in her upper torso were too gristly for Bree’s taste, and her tight-fitting workout clothes clung to an unnaturally rippled abdomen. She looked better on television.

Temple examined the scratch on her hand. “She left a note at the house saying she was coming here. I have to talk to her.”

Lucy had mentioned a friend who was staying at the house, but she hadn’t offered any details, and Bree had forgotten about it. She’d certainly never imagined Lucy’s friend was Temple Renshaw.

Temple looked her square in the eye. “Is she around?”

Bree wasn’t good at standing up to assertive people, but she didn’t know whether Lucy wanted to see this woman or not. “There’s nobody here now but me.”

Temple shoved back a lock of dark hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Temple ignored her. She crossed the yard and dropped down on the back step-the same place where Bree used to spend so much time.

Bree couldn’t throw her off the property physically, so she shrugged and echoed Toby. “Whatever.”

TOBY WAS WORRIED. THE GLASS ornaments Bree had hand-painted with scenes from the island and sold for thirty-five dollars each were all gone, but instead of saving the money, she’d bought more to paint. It was stupid. Labor Day was three weeks away, and the tourists would be gone after that. She didn’t have time to sell more, and then what were they going to do for money? This had been the worst summer of his life. He was never going to see Eli and Ethan again. Even Mike hadn’t been around much lately. He was too busy with clients.

A gray SUV stopped. As the door opened, he saw the driver was Panda. Now that he’d gotten to know him better, Toby wasn’t so scared of him. Panda let Toby take a kayak out, and the two of them had paddled around the cove and even into the lake. Panda also let Toby help chop down a dead tree. Toby hoped he’d be as cool as Panda when he grew up. He liked the way Panda walked, like he was real tough and never had to worry about anything. He liked his shades. Nobody would ever mess with a guy liked Panda.

“How you doing, pal?” Panda said as he approached. “Made any money?”

“Sixty-eight dollars this afternoon.”

“That’s good.” He looked around. “I thought Lucy might be working here today.”

Toby shrugged. “I don’t know where she is.”

Panda nodded like he was thinking that over, although Toby couldn’t really see what there was to think about. “How is she?” he asked.

“Okay, I guess.” The scab on Toby’s knee was itching. He scratched around it.

“Is she walking okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, is she limping or anything like that?”

“I don’t know. I guess not.”

Panda shoved his hand through his hair, like he might be getting a little upset. He was acting weird. “But she’s talking to you?”

“Sure.”

“So… Did she say anything to you about… anything?”

“Lots of stuff.”

“Like what?”

Toby thought about it. “She said she didn’t think anybody should go around saying the n-word, not even if they’re black like me. Her brother, Andre, is black. Did you know that?”

“I did.”

“She doesn’t think a lot of hip-hop artists are good role models for kids, but I think they are. They make a lot of money and everything.” Panda kept looking at him, like he expected Toby to say more, but Toby didn’t know what else he was supposed to say. “She put a mashed-up sweet potato in some bread she made, but it still tasted good.”

Panda kept staring at him. Toby was starting to wish he’d go away. “She told Bree that she likes to ride horses.”

Panda wandered over to the honey and stared at it, like he was really interested in honey. “Did she say anything about me?”

His scab was itching again. “I don’t know. I guess not.”

Panda nodded, stared at the honey some more, then grabbed a bottle. Only after he was back in his car did Toby see that he’d paid for it with a twenty-dollar bill. “Hey!”

But Panda was pulling away.

LUCY HEARD THEIR VOICES BEFORE she reached the cottage. She’d hoped to write another few pages this afternoon, but an overpowering urge to eat something sweet had driven her back to the house. She was finding it more difficult to adjust to her former healthy eating habits than she’d ever imagined possible. In the old days, she seldom ate when she wasn’t hungry, but two months of “dieting” had made her obsess about food. Now, when she was uncomfortable, tired, or unhappy, all she wanted to do was stuff her mouth. No wonder most people gained their weight back after they dieted.

As the voices grew louder, she readjusted the beach towel she’d bunched under her arm and stopped to listen.

“You should leave now,” she heard Bree say.

“Not until I see Lucy,” Temple retorted.

“She’s gone.”

“I don’t believe you. Her things are still in her bedroom at the house.”

Bree hesitated. “Only because she doesn’t want them anymore.”

“Tell me another one. Where is she?”

“I’m not her keeper. How am I supposed to know?”

Lucy listened in bemusement as the timid field mouse stood up to the Evil Queen. What had happened to the insecure woman Lucy had first met? Lucy reluctantly stepped out of the trees. Temple slammed her hands on her hips. “There you are! I’m furious with you.”

“Leave her alone,” the field mouse said.

Temple stalked toward Lucy. “It was bad enough for you to walk out on Panda, but I didn’t do anything, and you had no right to walk out on me. Did you stop for one second to think how I’d feel when I heard you’d run away without a word? I’m so furious with you that I don’t care if I ever speak to you again.”

“Then why are you here?” Bree’s jaw set in a newly stubborn line.

Temple spun on her. “Stay out of this. It has nothing to do with you.”

“This is my house, and Lucy’s my guest. That makes it my business.”

Lucy forced herself to step in. “Have the two of you been properly introduced? Bree West, this is Temple Renshaw. Temple, Bree.”

“I know who she is,” Bree said tightly.

Lucy regarded her ruefully. “Believe it or not, Temple really isn’t quite as rude as she seems.”

“Don’t you dare apologize for me,” Temple retorted, taking in Lucy’s chin-length and much neater hairdo-compliments of Bree and her scissors. “I’m still infuriated with you.”

“I understand,” Lucy conceded. “And you’re right. I’m sorry. I should at least have left you a note.”

Temple sniffed. “You deserve to be sorry. When are you coming home?”

“She’s not,” Bree said firmly. “She’s staying here.”

“That’s what you think.”

Listening to the two of them argue over her made Lucy feel better than she had in days. Temple turned her back to Bree. Some of her aggression faded, and her brow knit with concern. “What did he do to you? He told me what happened at that dive you went to, but I know he didn’t tell me everything.” And then, to Bree, with forced politeness, “Would you mind going away so Lucy and I can talk?”

Lucy reluctantly put a halt to their tiff. “Stop glowering at her, Temple. She has every right to be here. I was planning to talk to you. I just didn’t want to go back to the house to do it.”

Wrong thing to say. Temple’s brow shot up in righteous anger. “Then obviously our friendship isn’t important to you.”

“That’s not true.” Lucy dropped her beach towel in a patch of shade and sat on it. As the spicy scent of basil drifted toward her, she filled Temple in on more of the details of what had happened at The Compass. When she was done, she hugged her knees to her chest. “I thought I was so tough.”

“You’re not seriously blaming yourself for not being able to fight off those gangsters,” Temple said.

“Other women do it.”

“In the movies.”

Her indignation was comforting, but Lucy couldn’t give herself a free pass.

In a single graceful movement, Temple dropped beside her on the beach towel. “I don’t understand why Panda was so stingy with the details.”

“Client privilege, I’m sure.” Lucy swallowed her bitterness. “Basically, that’s how he still sees me. As his responsibility.”

“He protected you,” Temple said adamantly. “So why are you so pissed with him?”

“I’m not,” she said. “I’m pissed with myself.”

“Sure. Blame the victim,” Bree interjected.

“It’s not that,” Lucy said. “All summer I pretended I was so tough. Joke’s on me, right?”

Temple brushed that away. “What about Panda? Why did you walk out on him?”

“Because our relationship was as phony as my tattoos.”

“It didn’t seem phony to me.” Temple looked over at Bree. “Anybody who sees them together can tell how hot they are for each other.”

Lucy didn’t like that. “I dumped my fiancé at the altar, and two weeks later, I jumped in bed with another man. Nice, right?”

“Normally, no,” Temple said. “But when the man is Panda…”

Lucy wasn’t letting anybody make excuses for her. “It’s time for me to deal with what’s real in my life and what isn’t. Panda’s not.”

“He seems real to me. And you’re in love with him.”

“Stop saying that!” she cried. “Believe me, love isn’t what I feel for Panda.” That word belonged to Ted. She’d worshipped him, and she definitely didn’t worship Panda. How could you worship someone when all you wanted to do was rip his clothes off? Or laugh with him, or snarl at him, or exchange those looks of perfect understanding? With Panda, she felt like bad Lucy, good Lucy, and Viper all rolled into one. Who needed that kind of confusion?

Bree loomed over the beach towel, rescuing her from further explanation. “Lucy is staying here,” she told Temple.

“No, she’s not.” Temple jumped to her feet. “I want her back.”

“Too bad. I need her.”

“You think I don’t?”

“Tough. You can visit her here whenever you like.”

Lucy’s eyes stung. “As much as I love watching the two of you fight over me, you really shouldn’t.”

Bree moved toward the side of the house. “I have to check on Toby. There’s iced tea in the refrigerator.” She spun back to Lucy. “You stay here. Don’t let her bully you.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Temple’s mouth as Bree disappeared. “I like her.” Her smile quickly faded. “What do you hope to accomplish by running away? You keep telling me I need to face my problems, but what do you do when things get tough? Big talker runs away.”

“Be nice.”

“Fine,” Temple said in a huff. “If that’s your attitude, I won’t tell you about the phone call I made.”

“Tell me,” Lucy said, because she knew Temple wanted her to ask.

“You don’t deserve to know.”

“Tell me anyway.”

She did, and Lucy sprang up off the towel. “Are you sure about this?”

Temple glowered. “I thought you’d be happy. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Not exactly. But Lucy kept that thought to herself.

PANDA SLAPPED DOWN THE SCREWDRIVER as the doorbell rang. The only person he wanted to see right now was Lucy, and she wouldn’t be ringing the doorbell. He’d just finished wrestling with the kitchen table, and removing the bulky legs wasn’t going well.

On his way to the front door, he frowned at a cheap seascape hanging on the wall. He’d grown used to paintings disappearing and furniture mysteriously transporting itself from one room to another. Why hadn’t Lucy gotten rid of this? Worst of all was his pig. It still wore the same clown nose she’d stuck on it last week.

He reached the door and glanced through the sidelight. A bombshell blonde stood on the other side.

There was something familiar about her, although he knew they’d never met. Maybe it was her figure. Hard to forget a body like this. Big breasts, tiny waist, narrow hips. And spectacular legs, what he could see of them.

He tried to place her as he opened the door, but something about her appearance was throwing him off. Her long blond hair shouldn’t be pinned up so neatly, and she wore too many clothes.

Then he recognized her. His stomach sank.

She held out her hand. “You must be Mr. Shade. I’m Kristina Chapman.” She cocked her head to the side and smiled, as though they were sharing a private joke. “Dr. Kristi.”