The Seduction of Goody Two-Shoes

Epilogue

“A toast-to the newest undercover operative of the USFWS!”

Ellie lifted her bottle of pulque. With a lazy smile, her husband did the same. There was a tiny clink as the two bottles met, then a soft chuckle and a sigh. For a moment they were both silent, watching the sunlight play on the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, reveling in the feel of a warm autumn breeze.

Then McCall said, “And here’s to our first assignment together. I can’t believe they’ve agreed to let us be partners.”

“Well,” said Ellie a trifle smugly, “I do have a few connections, you know. One, anyway.” She took a satisfying sip of pulque-she really had developed a taste for the stuff. “I must say, it was nice of Uncle Rhett to pull strings for us-especially considering he’s only got a couple more months to be President of the United States.” She gave a little shiver of anticipation. “I can’t wait to get this new operation started. Malaysia-wow. I’ve always wanted to go to Malaysia. I can’t wait to go after this ring-imagine killing Sumatran tigers, one of the most endangered animals on the planet-and selling the body parts for medicine!”

“Could be dangerous,” McCall said, carefully not looking at her. He knew he was going to have to keep a lid on his protective instincts where she was concerned, to some extent, anyway. But he was learning to trust the instincts and resourcefulness of his Cinnamon Girl.

“Hey-” Ellie said, jumping to her feet and reaching for his hand, “I’ve got a surprise for you-well, for us, actually. Sort of a combination graduation and anniversary present. Close your eyes. And no peeking…

“…there, now. What do you think?”

McCall opened his eyes cautiously, one at a time. “A hammock,” he said woodenly, after a moment or two of futilely hoping he was seeing things.

“Straight from the Yucatan,” she said gleefully. “I had the consul’s wife get it for me in Merida. Isn’t it great?”

“Yeah, great,” muttered McCall. “Reminds me of a giant spiderweb.”

“I know you said you don’t care for hammocks,” his wife said, giving him a sideways look he’d come to respect-for its sheer stubbornness, if nothing else. Then her voice dropped to a new register, one that never failed to start his pulse hammering and make his blood heat up and all his objections melt away. “But I think that’s just because you didn’t have the right hammock.”

“I see,” he said huskily. “And what makes this one the right hammock, if I may ask?”

“It’s got me,” she said sweetly.

He snorted, knowing full well the effect his scepticism always had on her contrary spirit. “Big deal. You can’t make love in a hammock.”

“Wanna bet? Come ’ere, Mr. Two-Shoes, and let me show you how it’s done…”

He watched the smile he’d been waiting for break like a sunrise across her face. And taking a long deep breath, he drank in pure happiness…and the sweet scent of orange blossoms.