Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 10

"I don't like it, Sam," William Matheson was saying from his condo in Santa Monica the next morning. The phone connection was clear and her father sounded as if he was in the next room rather than over a thousand miles away. "I don't like it at all."

"Neither do I," Sam admitted, balancing the receiver against her shoulder as she laced up her Nikes, "but it's all part and parcel of the business."

"Then give it up. Open a private practice. All this radio stuff is just fluff. Doesn't do anyone a whole lot of good, and it sounds dangerous."

"I shouldn't have told you," she said, straightening and tossing her hair from her eyes.

"I would have found out."

"I know. That's why I thought I should give you the straight scoop.

" He sighed, and she sensed his frustration. Life hadn't turned out the way her father had planned. Not for him, not for his wife, or children.

"I just don't want to see you go through a replay of that nasty business in Houston."

"I won't," she said, but felt a chill deep in her heart.

#x201C;I don't have to remind you it all started with a phone call to the station."

"No, Dad, you don't. I remember it all very well." As if it were yesterday, As if it were yesterday, she added silently as she walked from the living room into the kitchen. Goose b.u.mps rose on her arm when she remembered the plaintive worried call from a desperate girl. she added silently as she walked from the living room into the kitchen. Goose b.u.mps rose on her arm when she remembered the plaintive worried call from a desperate girl.

"Well, just keep it in mind, will you? I worry."

"I know you do. Enough for both of us...or maybe enough for a small city. Don't worry about me, Dad, I'm fine. Everyone at the station is alerted, and I've talked with the police. My guess is that whoever called has moved on. He had his twisted fun, and now he's off to torture small animals or scare kids in the park."

"It's not funny."

"I know, I know," Sam said. "I was just trying to lighten the mood."

Her father hesitated. "I don't suppose you've heard from Peter." Sam closed her eyes. Mentally counted to ten. Always. Dad always asked about her brother.

"Of course I haven't."

"I didn't expect it." But you keep asking. After ten years. But you keep asking. After ten years. "It's just that once you're a parent, you're a parent for life. You'll understand when you finally have kids of your own." "It's just that once you're a parent, you're a parent for life. You'll understand when you finally have kids of your own."

"I imagine I will." Now comes the part where he tells me I'm not getting any younger, that Cousin Doreen has two kids in school and another on the way. Now comes the part where he tells me I'm not getting any younger, that Cousin Doreen has two kids in school and another on the way.

"You know, Samantha, just because you had one marriage already, doesn't mean you have to swear off the inst.i.tution. Your mother and I were married thirty-four years, and we experienced our ups and downs, but it was worth it, let me tell you."

"I'm glad, Dad," she said, though she sometimes didn't believe him. He'd survived his son's disappearance, his wife's death and focused on his only daughter, one who never seemed to listen to any of his advice. "You know I love you."

"I love you, too, sweetheart."

"Are you still dating the widow across the hall?"

"Helen? No...well, it's not really dating. We just play golf or bridge together once in a while."

"Trust me, she considers it a date."

"Is that your professional opinion?" he asked, and Sam heard the smile in his voice. For the moment, his worries about his daughter were allayed.

"You bet it is. You'll be getting a bill."

He laughed. "No freebies for the old man?"

"Especially not for the old man. Look, Dad, I've got to run, but I'll call again. Soon."

"Do that and, Samantha, be careful, would you?"

"Promise, Dad."

"Good girl." He hung up and Sam dropped the receiver into its cradle. She glanced out the window to the dock where the Bright Angel Bright Angel rocked against her moorings, sails down against a backdrop of blue sky. Shaking her head, Sam rubbed the tension from the back of her neck. No matter what she did, no matter how successful she became, how she proved herself, her father would always think of her as his little girl. Nor would he give up on Peter, despite the fact that whether it was a biological truth or not, in Sam's mind, her older brother was as good as dead. rocked against her moorings, sails down against a backdrop of blue sky. Shaking her head, Sam rubbed the tension from the back of her neck. No matter what she did, no matter how successful she became, how she proved herself, her father would always think of her as his little girl. Nor would he give up on Peter, despite the fact that whether it was a biological truth or not, in Sam's mind, her older brother was as good as dead.

Ty showed up sometime after noon. With a heavy toolbox and a bottle of wine. "For your trouble," he said as he handed her the bottle on her porch. Again his eyes were shaded, again he wore cutoffs, again the dog trotted after him. "I got busy and it got dark, so I didn't come back yesterday...if I'd had your number, I would have called."

"No problem," she a.s.sured him, though she didn't quite believe her own words. There was something disturbing about the man, something inertly sensual and, she sensed, dangerous.

Or was she just getting paranoid?

Had the surly detective's warnings convinced her not to trust anyone?

As Ty skirted the house and took the outside path to the lake, Samantha stashed the bottle of Riesling in the refrigerator and caught a glimpse of herself in the cut-gla.s.s mirror of her antique sideboard. Her cheeks had colored, and she could use some lipstick but refused to stoop to primping for the guy. He was a neighbor with a boat problem. Nothing more.

Nothing.

She caught up with him on the dock. He was already working with the engine, his fingers wrapped around a wrench, his muscles straining as he twisted an old nut. "You could have borrowed those from me, you know. I do have a few things-pliers, wrenches, a hammer."

"I suppose, but I knew these would work. Right size. They came with the boat." Glancing over his shoulder, he offered her a half smile. "I took the tools out yesterday when I was checking for a leak. Left "em on my dock, then took her out for a spin." As if he antic.i.p.ated some comment, he added, "I know, not the brightest thing I've ever done. But I didn't think I'd need the motor." He winced as he gave a bolt a final twist. "You don't have to say it. I know I'm an idiot."

"Simple mistake," she said.

"Simple man," he muttered under his breath, but she didn't believe him for a minute. She guessed there was nothing simple about Ty Wheeler; nothing simple at all. From the dock, the dog hopped lithely into the boat, took up a spot near the helm and lay down, head on his paws, brown eyes quietly a.s.sessing. Overhead, white clouds rolled slowly across a wide cerulean sky where a hawk circled lazily and the boom on the main sail slipped a little.

"d.a.m.n." Ty glanced at the mast, then back at her. "Wanna help?"

"Sure. But I'd better warn you, I'm not much of a sailor." Ty slanted her a look. "Neither am I." His shirtsleeves were bunched over his elbows as he rocked back on his heels. "Think you can keep the boom steady for a couple of minutes?" he asked. "It keeps slippin'."

"I'll give it my best shot."

"It's heavy."

"I was a weight lifter in college."

His gaze swept up and down her body, and he swallowed a smile. "Yeah, right. I guess you never made it to the WWF, huh?"

"Okay, so I lied," she admitted, stepping aboard. "But I did play tennis."

"A killer shot at the net isn't going to help us much. There, now hold on to this." He placed her hands on the boom, then they both strained against the weight of it as he locked it into place once again.

"You okay?" Ty asked as he tested the lock. He pulled on the smooth wood. Sweat ran down the sides of his face, and he glared up at the rigging. The boom didn't budge. He glanced her way. "You can let go now."

Her arms ached a little. "Didn't realize how outta shape I was."

Again a quick glance down her body. "We got the job done." He removed his sungla.s.ses long enough to swipe the sweat from his forehead and for the first time since she'd met him she was looking into dark hazel eyes-green-brown that shifted in the sunlight. "Thanks." He shoved the shades up to the bridge of his nose again.

"You're more than welcome. Anytime you need to, pull in for repairs."

White teeth flashed. "Let's hope it's not too often." His gaze swept the deck of the Bright Angel. Bright Angel. "Maybe G.o.d is telling me I'm not cut out to be a boat owner. You know the old saying? What's the second happiest day of a boat owner's life?" "Maybe G.o.d is telling me I'm not cut out to be a boat owner. You know the old saying? What's the second happiest day of a boat owner's life?"

"I give. What?"

"The day he buys the boat. And what's the happiest day of his life?"

She waited.

"The day he sells it."

She threw him a smile and motioned to the sloop. "And I always thought guys had love affairs with these things."

"Some do. But a boat is just like a woman. You've got to find the right one. Sometimes you make a mistake. Other times you get lucky." He was staring at her through the dark lenses. Hard.

"And they say men are like cars-never perfect. Never coming with all the right options."

"And what are those?" he asked.

"I don't think I know you well enough to say," she teased as she climbed off the sloop. Pain shot up her bad ankle, and she winced.

"Are you okay?"

"Just an old war wound kicking up." The pain lessened as she watched him fiddle with the engine. With pliers, wrenches and other tools she didn't recognize, he worked on the motor, tried to start the boat, wasn't satisfied with the sputter that commenced and leaned over the engine again. His old dog waited patiently in the shade of the wheel, brown eyes watching Ty.

Sam tried not to study the way his back curved or the fluidity of his tanned shoulders as he worked. Corded muscles flexed, then relaxed and his cutoffs gaped enough that she saw a slice of white just under his waistband.

Don't go there, she silently warned herself, she silently warned herself, you don't even know this guy. you don't even know this guy. But she couldn't help noticing the way his thin lips flattened over his teeth or the narrowing of his eyes as he worked. But she couldn't help noticing the way his thin lips flattened over his teeth or the narrowing of his eyes as he worked.

He tried the engine again and it sputtered unsteadily. "I suppose that's as good as it's gonna get until I take her in for major repairs," he grumbled as he reached under a seat, withdrew a rag and wiped his hands. His smile was irrepressible as he slapped the boom. "Yep, one h.e.l.l of an investment."

"Could I get you anything? Some of the wine? Or a beer? If I look hard, I think I could even scrounge up a can of c.o.ke." Detective Bentz's warnings about dealing with strangers and changing her locks echoed through her mind, but she steadfastly shoved the policeman's admonishments out of her head. At least for the time being. Until she learned more about this man.

He climbed off the boat. "I'd better take a rain check." He looked about to say something, then glanced toward the lake, where a fish jumped, silver scales catching in the sunlight, and seemed to think better of it.

"What?" she asked, intrigued.

"I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I ran into one of our neighbors the other day, the old lady across the street."

Sam groaned inwardly. "Don't tell me. She thought you should knock on my door with a box of chocolates or bottle of..." She let her voice fade, remembering the Riesling cooling in the fridge. "Oh. That's why..."

"Yep." He raised his hands, palms outward. Sucked in his breath. "Guilty as charged."

"And the boat?"

"Really did break down." He shook his head. "I couldn't fake that."

"Well, that's something," she said, a little stung. Not that he'd really lied, but...

"For the record Edie told me that you were a cross between Meg Ryan and Nicole Kidman and that I'd be out of my mind if I didn't meet you." Sam wanted to drop right through the dock as his shaded eyes met hers. "So that's why I pulled in here, rather than at the dock next door. I had to see for myself."

"And?"

"Hey, anything I say now is gonna get me into deeper trouble, I think." He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced away. "If I tell you you're prettier than either Meg or Nicole, you'll laugh at me and tell me to get lost. It'll sound like a come-on line and if I say 'Nah, the old lady needs her gla.s.ses readjusted,' you'll be offended. Either way I lose."

She thought of her nosy neighbor likening Ty to Harrison Ford, Tom Cruise and Clark Gable. "Edie Killingsworth watches too many movies."

"Nah, she's just one of those women who can't stop themselves from matchmaking. She was probably already working you."

"Maybe. She told you I was single?"

"Implied as much." He glanced at her ringless left hand. "No hardware."

"Not for a long time. I'm divorced," she admitted. And you?"

His lips tightened just a fraction, as if he didn't want to talk about it, as if he didn't want to give up too much of himself. "Single." From the boat, his dog whined. "Hush, Sasquatch, and no, I didn't name him," he added, as if reading her mind while thankful to change the subject. "My sister's prize German shepherd b.i.t.c.h had a litter that was supposed to be purebred. However, when the pups were born, it was obvious that she had managed to jump the fence before they brought in the show dog to do the honors and father the litter. Anyway, my sister ended up with six paperless pups and I got the runt, this guy here."

He threw a smile at his dog. "Sarah had already named him. She lives up in Bigfoot country, up around Mt. St. Helens in Washington State. That was twelve years ago." Ty gave a sharp whistle, the dog bounded out of the boat and raced the length of the dock to stop right at his heels. His tail swept the dusty planks, his tongue lolled from his head and he panted loudly.

"Trained well," she said, and scratched the old shepherd behind his ears. He froze. His eyes trained on the cat. His muscles quivered. Charon had been stalking across the lawn. Spying the dog, he stopped dead in his tracks at the base of a live oak tree. His black hair stiffened and he glared at the intruder with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Don't even think about it," Ty warned. The dog whined a little but stayed put as Charon slunk like a quick black shadow toward the safety of the hedge.

Ty rubbed the shepherd's big head. "You'd better be on your best behavior, or the lady will throw you out."

"What makes you think his his behavior will have any influence on me?" Sam asked, surprised that she was nearly flirting with this stranger. But it felt good to laugh and talk without any restrictions, without worrying about how he would take her comments. If he didn't like them, tough. He could be on his way. "The dog can do just about anything he wants," she said. "You, on the other hand, need to be straight with me." behavior will have any influence on me?" Sam asked, surprised that she was nearly flirting with this stranger. But it felt good to laugh and talk without any restrictions, without worrying about how he would take her comments. If he didn't like them, tough. He could be on his way. "The dog can do just about anything he wants," she said. "You, on the other hand, need to be straight with me."

"Always," he said quickly. Almost too quickly. He was standing close enough that she had to crane her neck up to look at his face. Crow's-feet bit into the corners of his eyes, and there was a small scar over one eyebrow. His skin was tanned and tight, and he looked as tough as leather. Like he could take care of himself and anyone else he wanted to.

Stupidly, her heart pounded a bit. Despite his easy drawl and good looks, he was a stranger-someone unknown, a man who appeared outwardly calm, but beneath the veneer seemed restless.

She reminded herself that somewhere lurking in the streets of New Orleans there was a man who had decided to terrorize her, knew her name, her address and where she worked. A man she didn't know. One she wouldn't recognize.

So who was she to say that this man, this stranger stranger who lived down the street wasn't the "John" who had phoned the station during her broadcast or the creep who had sent her the letter and mutilated picture? who lived down the street wasn't the "John" who had phoned the station during her broadcast or the creep who had sent her the letter and mutilated picture?

"Edie did let it slip that you're Dr. Sam," he admitted. "As in Samantha Leeds, beautiful woman, great cook, and and radio psychologist." radio psychologist."

Her nerves tightened. "So, are you in the market for a shrink?"

"Depends upon who you talk to." That d.a.m.nable smile grew irreverently. "Just don't call my sister. She'd have me signed up for sessions for the rest of my life." He folded his arms across his chest, stretching the seams of his shirt. "You could retire then."

"I doubt that you need my help."