guards are pulling a hundred percent cross-check on ID cards.”
“Now.” She tapped her sunglasses at the bridge of her nose and cracked her gum, totally annoyed.
“Now,” he agreed, giving her that one.
Mark’s home was in an upscale, gated community on the bay. He paused at the guard shack, a pretty, white clapboard surrounded by a riot of zinnias, marigolds, petunias and lavender—the blend of which drifted in through the window he opened to address the guard.
“Sam, this is my guest. Give her unfettered ingress and egress, okay?”
Surprise lighted in Sam’s eyes, but he quickly masked it. “Yes, sir, Captain.”
“Thanks.” Mark started to pull away. “Oh, and expect a rental-car delivery in an hour or so, too. It won’t be a Honda.”
“Yes, sir.” Clearly not getting the significance of that comment, he nodded. “I’ll need a name, sir—to post so there’s no problem with the other guards in giving your guest access.”
“No, you won’t. I don’t want anyone to know she’s here.”
Sam frowned, clearly not sure what to do with that.
Amanda interceded. “My husband is trying to kill me, Sam. Mark is hiding me from him.”
His entire expression changed. The hesitation and uncertainty faded to a fierce protection that Amanda found endearing. He glanced at Mark and then back to Amanda. “Don’t you worry. No one will know you’re here and we’ll be watching for possible intruders, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” Amanda tried not to bristle from the lie, and from needing a man to protect her. It was a little tough on the ego for someone with her skills and training, but Sam’s intentions were honorable, and it would be good to have extra eyes monitoring for intruders.
Mark drove on, and when they’d cleared the gate, he gave her a sidelong look. “Your husband?”
She shrugged. “Sam was thinking our relationship was personal. You were letting him.”
“Yeah, I was,” Mark said, apparently not too happy that she’d screwed up his plan. “Anonymity and a personal connection rather than a professional one gives you a little protection.”
She’d like to argue with that, but she couldn’t, so she silently seethed about it and expanded on her rationale for upsetting his applecart. “You give people a reason to cover your ass, Cross. That satisfies their curiosity and bonds them to you. Curious people gossip, speculating on their curiosity.”
“Okay. Different approach, same results.” Mark drove down to Bayshore Drive, took the last right turn before the street dead-ended onto Bayside Circle.
“Different approach, different results,” she countered, noting his was the only house on the street: a sprawling, two-story Mediterranean with a terra-cotta tile roof.
“Do you always have to be right?” He drove down the softly sloped driveway into the four-car garage. “Or is it just a personal goal to always be right when dealing with me?”
“I do my best across the board,” she said. “My survival often depends on it.”
The look in his eyes softened. “I’ll try not to take it personally then.”
She smiled. “Take it personally, Cross. You’re keeping dangerous company these days. Mine. And it could get you killed.”
He smiled back. “I’ll take my chances.”
Defusing the sparks between them, Amanda turned the topic. “This house isn’t large, it’s obscenely huge.” She glanced back at him. “Don’t you get lost in it?”
“It’s a house.” He hiked a shoulder. “Would you be more comfortable at the boat?”
“No.” She had the grace to blush. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that as an insult. I just meant that if I lived alone, I’d feel lost in a house this big.”
“Not if you lived in just part of it and ignored the rest.” He cut the engine and removed the key.
Cross’s white elephant. “If that’s what you do, then why did you buy it?”
“Because I love the view of the bay from the back deck.”
“So you bought the
“Now.” She tapped her sunglasses at the bridge of her nose and cracked her gum, totally annoyed.
“Now,” he agreed, giving her that one.
Mark’s home was in an upscale, gated community on the bay. He paused at the guard shack, a pretty, white clapboard surrounded by a riot of zinnias, marigolds, petunias and lavender—the blend of which drifted in through the window he opened to address the guard.
“Sam, this is my guest. Give her unfettered ingress and egress, okay?”
Surprise lighted in Sam’s eyes, but he quickly masked it. “Yes, sir, Captain.”
“Thanks.” Mark started to pull away. “Oh, and expect a rental-car delivery in an hour or so, too. It won’t be a Honda.”
“Yes, sir.” Clearly not getting the significance of that comment, he nodded. “I’ll need a name, sir—to post so there’s no problem with the other guards in giving your guest access.”
“No, you won’t. I don’t want anyone to know she’s here.”
Sam frowned, clearly not sure what to do with that.
Amanda interceded. “My husband is trying to kill me, Sam. Mark is hiding me from him.”
His entire expression changed. The hesitation and uncertainty faded to a fierce protection that Amanda found endearing. He glanced at Mark and then back to Amanda. “Don’t you worry. No one will know you’re here and we’ll be watching for possible intruders, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” Amanda tried not to bristle from the lie, and from needing a man to protect her. It was a little tough on the ego for someone with her skills and training, but Sam’s intentions were honorable, and it would be good to have extra eyes monitoring for intruders.
Mark drove on, and when they’d cleared the gate, he gave her a sidelong look. “Your husband?”
She shrugged. “Sam was thinking our relationship was personal. You were letting him.”
“Yeah, I was,” Mark said, apparently not too happy that she’d screwed up his plan. “Anonymity and a personal connection rather than a professional one gives you a little protection.”
She’d like to argue with that, but she couldn’t, so she silently seethed about it and expanded on her rationale for upsetting his applecart. “You give people a reason to cover your ass, Cross. That satisfies their curiosity and bonds them to you. Curious people gossip, speculating on their curiosity.”
“Okay. Different approach, same results.” Mark drove down to Bayshore Drive, took the last right turn before the street dead-ended onto Bayside Circle.
“Different approach, different results,” she countered, noting his was the only house on the street: a sprawling, two-story Mediterranean with a terra-cotta tile roof.
“Do you always have to be right?” He drove down the softly sloped driveway into the four-car garage. “Or is it just a personal goal to always be right when dealing with me?”
“I do my best across the board,” she said. “My survival often depends on it.”
The look in his eyes softened. “I’ll try not to take it personally then.”
She smiled. “Take it personally, Cross. You’re keeping dangerous company these days. Mine. And it could get you killed.”
He smiled back. “I’ll take my chances.”
Defusing the sparks between them, Amanda turned the topic. “This house isn’t large, it’s obscenely huge.” She glanced back at him. “Don’t you get lost in it?”
“It’s a house.” He hiked a shoulder. “Would you be more comfortable at the boat?”
“No.” She had the grace to blush. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that as an insult. I just meant that if I lived alone, I’d feel lost in a house this big.”
“Not if you lived in just part of it and ignored the rest.” He cut the engine and removed the key.
Cross’s white elephant. “If that’s what you do, then why did you buy it?”
“Because I love the view of the bay from the back deck.”
“So you bought the
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