Lancelot of the Pines (Louisiana Knights Book 1) (16 page)

It was a couple of hours before dawn when they pulled into the parking lot of a big discount store. The place was open but customers were few. The near daylight conditions created by banks of floodlights showed a big motor home and a fifth wheel rig parked to the far left side, along with an eighteen wheeler with its diesel engine on idle. Lance pulled into a slot between the other two RVs and turned off the key.

“What are you doing?” Mandy asked, looking around in some mystification. “Why are we stopping here?”

“It’s called hiding in plain sight.”

“Meaning?”

“We’re one more happy camper taking advantage of the free overnight parking offered by this discount chain.”

“And no one is supposed to guess we’d risk parking here with the others?”

“Exactly.” He gave her a fast smile. “Besides, we can use a few things.”

“Such as?” As far as she could see, the refrigerator and small panty held enough food for several more days.

“A couple of cheap cell phones, for a start.” He set the emergency brake and rose out of his seat. “Then I could go for some ice cream.”

If the last was meant to distract her, it didn’t work. “You really think we were tracked by way of your phone?”

“Makes more sense than anything else.” He moved toward the back to check the freezer compartment as if gauging the amount of room before turning to her again. “You want vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, or something more exotic?”

“Surprise me.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“Fair enough,” he said, moving to open the side door before clattering down the automatic steps, “since you’ve sure surprised me.”

She didn’t think she was meant to hear that last bit. Or maybe she was; it was difficult to tell. A frown settled between her brows as she watched Lance walk toward the store entrance. He was alert to his surroundings, his gaze narrowed as he watched a battered pickup with a dog crate in the back pull out of a parking space. Still, he moved with an easy, long-legged gait that suggested he had not a care in the world.

It was beyond annoying when her stomach was tied in knots.

It would serve him right if she wasn’t here when he got back. She could walk down to the gas station she’d seen a half mile back. With any luck, she could catch a ride and be in New Orleans well before noon.

She couldn’t do it. For one thing, Lance would likely chase her down before she got out of the parking lot. More than that, she didn’t want to leave.

The few minutes spent in Lance’s arms had been the most secure she’d known since before they took her mom away. He’d told her there was no such thing as safety, but it could be he didn’t want her to grow too dependent on him.

It wasn’t likely now, was it? His kiss under the big pine had not been about the soft darkness of the night, the overwhelming attraction between them or even the pleasure of their dance under the moon. No, indeed. It had been about fulfilling his duty to protect her.

She didn’t want to be a duty. She didn’t want him to risk his life for her.

What did she want?

She didn’t want to die, that much was certain. She longed to be free of this ordeal, free to decide exactly where she stood and what was possible for her. Was that too much to ask?

She was a widow, a fact she kept coming back to in order to believe it. She’d feared Bruce was dead for days, but that wasn’t like knowing it for a fact. It seemed she should feel deeper sorrow, but all she could muster were a few tears and regret for what might have been. She’d been retreating from him for months, so perhaps it was natural that this seemed only a final separation. The sad part was that she also recognized an element of relief. That was added to her anger at the mess he’d left behind. Somehow, grief had been trumped by the fear of being killed or causing Lance’s death.

The part of her life that Bruce had controlled was over; it was time for the next phase to begin.

It was ironic that circumstances had placed her in the control, nominal at least, of another man. She didn’t have to stay put, of course; she’d learned that much from her time with Bruce. She was her own person. From this moment, her fate would be what she made it.

Life-changing decisions would have to wait; she was too tired to think right now. She and Lance had driven at least three hours, maybe more, since leaving the campground. Adrenaline kept her awake during that time, but was fading now, leaving her shaky and exhausted. Only a couple of hours remained before the early dawn of summer, she thought, with a glance at the sky above the parking lot’s floodlights. She should probably make the most of them.

Lance’s bed was folded over upon itself since the slide-out was pulled in and locked. Three feet or so of mattress was still available at its foot, however, enough for her to stretch out cross-wise for a bit. The pull of it was too strong to resist, much stronger than the prospect of ice cream.

She was dozing when she heard the outer door open and close. For an instant, no other sound came, as if Lance paused to look for her. She didn’t know how much he could see in the dim light coming in around the blinds, but kept her breathing slow and even anyway.

The crackling noise of plastic bags came as he set his purchases on the kitchen counter. The refrigerator light came on when he opened its door to put away the ice cream. She thought he stood for a moment, gazing at her in that extra bit of light, and her heartbeat surged.

He must have decided to let her rest. He opened a kitchen drawer with the smallest of scraping noises, and then moved forward, away from her.

A muted snap sounded, and Mandy opened her eyes a fraction to see him removing the lid from a pint of ice cream. He sat down at the table and picked up a spoon, eating his treat in the dark.

His actions were considerate, even gentlemanly. They were also in keeping with his stance on fraternizing with a female suspect. Why, then, was the total lack of reaction to finding her in his bed so painful? Her chest ached, her throat felt tight and her eyes burned. Tears seeped through her eyelids and plopped onto the pillow she’d pulled beneath her head.

She wasn’t optimistic enough to expect the kiss they’d shared to change how things stood. No, its purpose had been crystal clear; he’d been protecting her. It was difficult to accept that he’d felt nothing, however, when her world had spun on its axis.

Well, all right, the kiss wasn’t the only cause for distress. It had been a long, upsetting night on top of weeks of tension. She’d been kidnapped, shot at, and hunted down while she ran and hid like a sacred rabbit. She was tired, so tired of it all.

What she ought to do was get up, walk to where Lance sat, and remove the ice cream from his hand. She should eat what was left on his spoon, and then sit down on his lap. Yes, and what then?

She should kiss him until he couldn’t think, as he had kissed her under the big pine. It wouldn’t be because of who could see them, however. It would be because she wanted to, because she wanted him.

That would be taking charge with a vengeance, wouldn’t it?

Yes, she should give Lance Benedict the surprise of his life. She might, too. One day.

Right this minute, she didn’t have the energy. No, nor the courage.

After a couple of hours on the table’s make-down bed arrangement, Lance had profound sympathy for Mandy’s nights spent there. He dozed in fits and starts, and woke with an aching back from the hard cushions and the need to keep his knees bent. The discount store’s bright floodlights that surrounded the RV didn’t help matters, either.

Finding Mandy in his bed, or as close as she could get without running out the slide, was the main source of his sleeplessness. Did it mean something he’d missed that she was there? Or had she simply been looking for a decent place to crash?

He wished he knew, but didn’t dare ask. The answer might be something he would hate hearing as joining her in that bed wasn’t an option.

She was still asleep, stretched across the foot of the mattress with her back to the rest of the RV. He eased off the torture rack of a sleeping place and pulled on his clothes. Picking up the plastic bag holding the two new cell phones, he slipped out the door.

He stood for a moment, breathing the early morning freshness as he took stock of the parking lot. It was still quiet at this hour, with only a dozen or so cars in front but more than before in the employee parking lot over on the far side. The travel trailer that had screened the RV to their left was gone, and so was the eighteen-wheeler farther up. Lance had heard them move out earlier. There wasn’t a lot he could do about their semi-exposed position now except get back on the road as soon as possible.

He walked away from the RV. Once he was sure the sound of his voice wouldn’t wake Mandy, he punched in the private number for the Chamelot sheriff’s office.

“You’re where?” Sheriff’s Tate’s wrathful amazement came through loud and clear.

Lance couldn’t help grinning, though he launched at once into the events at the campground that led to their midnight departure and present location.

“That does it,” the sheriff declared. “This business is getting out of hand. On top of that, the lady is wanted for further questioning in the murder of her husband.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Disbelief hardened Lance’s voice. The plastic bag he held crackled as his hand tightened on it.

“Not my idea. It’s the NOPD suggesting I get her in the office to talk to her.”

“No arrest warrant?”

“She’s a person of interest, one they hope will confess. You know how it goes.”

“They’re barking up the wrong tree. She had nothing to do with Caret’s death.”

“And you know that because she say’s so?”

“I’m also inclined to believe her.”

“Guess she has you fooled, huh? No, Lance, you’re being conned by an expert. The woman’s in this up to her chin, or so the guys in New Orleans tell me. Bring her in.”

“What?” Lance held the plastic bag closer to the phone, crinkling it with his fingers for all he was worth. “You’re breaking up. Must be—bad connec—cheap phone. Didn’t catch—you said?”

“I said bring her in, Lance. Bring her in right now!”

“Ring again, but leave—right now? That what—said? Yeah—will do.” He made the bag crackle a bit more for insurance while talking over the blue streak the sheriff was pouring into his ear. “Sorry. Nothing—static. Need to go. Catch—later.”

He punched the off button in the middle of that last word, and then stood staring at the phone with disgust. Since when had Sheriff Tate paid any attention to the police bureaucracy down in the Big Easy? He was usually more independent than God. That he’d taken it into his head to treat Mandy like a hardened criminal was ridiculous.

Right, and when had he become so sure she wasn’t?

Lance scowled as he considered that question. Was it last night, or from the moment he met her? When he’d looked into her wary, sea-green eyes, or when he’d held her in his arms?

Had he been royally conned, as he’d just been told? Or was he right about Mandy and every other lawman in the state of Louisiana was wrong?

He wished he knew. He really did.

The cell in his hand began to ring, a strident sound like an old-fashioned land line. It had to be the sheriff after he’d used call-back mode for the number; not another soul knew he had the damned thing.

An over-sized trash can that had lost its top sat a few yards away, rolled up against the tree-trunk sized pole for a set of floodlights. Shaking his head, Lance took aim and did a fast, overhead basketball throw of the cell phone. It was a no-netter, hitting the trash can opening like ringing a basket.

“And the crowd goes wild,” he muttered, holding that pose a second. Then he stuck the second cell phone into his back pocket, and walked close enough to discard its plastic bag.

Job well done. Dusting his hands, he spun on his heel to head back toward the RV.

The thud and swishing sound of a shot came in the same instant as the burning pain above his temple. He hit the pavement, grunting with the impact. Faster than thought, he heaved over, rolling behind the trash can and the big floodlight pole next to it.

More shots pinged as they hit. Bits of concrete paving kicked up in stinging fragments. Scrabbling on all fours, Lance dove for the bulk of a nearby truck, putting the three-quarter ton with its toolbox between him and the shooter. He rolled beneath it, dragged himself behind the rear wheel.

His heart was racing, his breathing hoarse. His scalp burned in a long groove, and he could feel the warm wetness of blood trickling down the side of his neck. All he could think of was Mandy alone and scared in the RV. He’d give everything he owned for his Glock that was in the driver’s side door pocket.

Swearing, he raised his head a few inches to take stock.

Another shot gouged metal and paint. He jerked back down as it showered from the fender above him.

No one was anywhere near the RV, not yet anyway. The rounds were coming from somewhere off to the right, near the outdoor plant area and employee parking lot. If he could get a line of sight on the location of the shooter, he might try a run for the vehicle. The problem was crawling from his cover long enough to do that.