Waters Run Deep

Tawny dropped her hand onto his head and rubbed his silky brown hair. Her message was unmistakable. Spencer wasn’t going to bed until the actress was ready. For some reason Tawny was hostile to Annie. She’d yet to figure out why the normally bouncy actress went all snake eyes on her.

Annie shifted in the comfortable armchair and glanced about the room. A floral rug anchored the space beneath a bank of windows that allowed a study of the bricked patio with its still-blooming containers of verbena and begonias. Comfortable, slipcovered furniture scattered the room, with built-in bookcases taking up a whole wall. The room was feminine without being nauseating, and Annie liked it better than any other room she’d seen in the colossal house.

A huge portrait of the Dufrene boys dominated the space over the fireplace, tripping her thoughts back to the man who’d rattled her today. Nate Dufrene had suspected she was not really a nanny. Almost blew her cover. Thank goodness Ace had the IT guy build her a real-estate site in Nevada. Hopefully, if someone went looking, they’d see Annie Perez as a failed chica real-estate agent desperate to make rent. Outside of the fake career, that’s pretty much what she was anyway. Well, half chica.

But then again, most “someones” weren’t detectives with prying chocolate eyes and a nose for truth. If Nate poked around too much, he’d discover she’d never sold a house in her life.

She studied the portrait. Nate’s dark hair had been clipped short and his expression was a mixture of boredom and tolerance. He’d not been happy about sitting still in button-up clothes next to his younger brothers. It was fairly obvious.

“Those are my sons,” Picou said, catching Annie staring at the portrait. “Nate is the tall one. The others are Abram and Darby.”

Annie smiled politely. “All nice-looking boys.”

“Aren’t they? Yet I can’t seem to collect any daughters-in-law, which is a shame. I’d love to have a grandson like Spencer someday.”

“Like me?” Spencer asked, scrambling to his feet, abandoning the puzzle pieces. He preened and gave the older woman the same dimpled smile his father had been delivering since his Tiger Beat magazine days. Killer.

Picou’s eyes widened. Yep. Got her.

The older woman wore a patterned blue caftan, replete with a girlish bow pinned on the side of her platinum hair. It looked utterly ridiculous, but yet, somehow fitting for the matriarch of the Dufrene clan. “Just like you…or a girl might be nice.”

“A girl? Girls are dumb. They like purses and stuff.” Spencer delivered a disgusted look.

Annie glanced back at the young Nate and recalled how the older Nate made her feel. Not just apprehensive, but interested. He’d grown into a long, tall, sexy drink of water, his youthful cheeks melting into a lean jaw and whiskered chin. Bright eyes fading to weary. Hair curling just behind his ears. Broad shoulders tapering to square, masculine hands. Yes, the man was on her radar, damn it.

Why couldn’t her rational mind control her irrational desires?

It was not like her to feel so attracted to a cop. Or, rather, someone so similar to her. She’d always liked the shy guys, the ones who seemed bumblingly inept, with sweet smiles and simple outlooks on life. Seth had fit the bill.

Nate Dufrene did not. He felt dangerous. Not biddable. Not sweet and complacent—more like intense, deep water with a strong current.

Annie had a job to do and the farther she stayed away from Nate Dufrene, the better. She didn’t need him hanging around, chipping away her façade, tempting her with his haunted eyes. Something about him compelled her to draw near when she needed to pull back—especially since she still had to split an astronomical mortgage on a condo with the last mistake she’d made. And that note was due at the end of the month.

She caught Picou regarding her with a thoughtful expression. Annie pulled her gaze away from both the portrait and Picou. The glint in the woman’s eye made her squirm. Not going to happen, lady. Annie wasn’t barking up that particular tree.

“Time for bed, Spencer.” This from Tawny.

Finally.

Annie rose from the chair and held out her hand. Spencer took it, rubbing his eyes with the other hand while yawning. Once again something warm stole across her heart. He reached up for her to pick him up, so she did, enjoying his arms curling around her neck. He looked back at his mom and Picou. “Mom, Annie’s not in trouble, is she? She told me I could see the gators, but I didn’t wanna wait.”

Annie froze, her back to Tawny and Picou.

“Of course not, birdie. And I’ll take you to see the gators, okay?”

“’Kay,” Spencer murmured, stifling a yawn.

“Good night, birdie. Love you,” Tawny called as Annie walked to the door. “And goodnight to you, too, Amy.”

Annie bit off a retort.

Tawny had gotten that one in on purpose.

CHAPTER FOUR

NATE LEANED BACK AGAINST the supple leather of his desk chair, his heavy sigh interrupting the silence of his office. He’d been through the files for the third time that week, looking for anything that might grab him, might stand out enough to follow, but there was nothing. Dead end in every direction.

He grabbed the files and bagged evidence and carefully placed them back into the cardboard box, setting it on the short filing cabinet. His office needed organizing. In fact, his whole house could use a good cleaning. His housekeeper, Gloria, cleaned the toilets and changed the sheets once a week, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of the cold-case boxes lining the wood floor of the living room.

Damn it. Radrica Moore’s killer would go unpunished.

He shoved the lid onto the box. Then he hesitated. He didn’t want to give up. Wouldn’t be fair to Radrica. To her mother, who still mourned the death of the thirteen-year-old honor student. He pulled off the lid and propped it against the box, staring into the contents.

There was very little physical evidence in the case. The body of the African American girl had been found in stagnant water of the flooded timberland just off the Mississippi River, badly decomposed. The cause of death had been inconclusive, though the coroner found evidence of possible defensive wounds. The Rapides sheriff’s department classified it as a homicide, but had nothing else to go on.

Nate padded into his kitchen, opened the fridge and surveyed the contents: six pack of Abita, leftover barbecue from the Wing Shack and a package of luncheon meat he didn’t remember buying. He grabbed an Abita and shut the door.

As he cracked open the beer, he shifted his thoughts from the cold case lying dead in his office to the incident at Beau Soleil that afternoon. Even though the boy had been found safe and sound, something bothered him about the whole deal.

Annie Perez.

Maybe that’s who had him at attention.

And not in a way he welcomed.

When he’d reached the reunion between the “missing” Spencer and his over-the-top mother, he noticed how easily Annie faded into the background—purposely, it seemed.

She’d skirted the gathering, melding herself into a quiet statue on the perimeter, but her eyes had been searching the group of people gathered as if weighing some unseen force.

But maybe that’s who she was. Cautious, still and serious. Nothing wrong with being quiet, even if intensity flowed out of every pore of the woman.

Desire snaked into his belly.

Exactly what he didn’t need. He lifted the bottle and took a swig, swiping a hand across his mouth. It had been a while since he’d dated. Maybe too long. He’d been busy this past summer with more requests for help on cold cases than he could handle. The state budget had police and sheriff departments cut to the bone, and word had gotten out about his talent with homicide cases that had no pulse. His consulting jobs were freebies, and sometimes when things were slow, Blaine gave him leeway. Not that it really mattered. He didn’t work them for the money anyway. He worked them for the satisfaction of getting what he’d never have—completion.

He walked back to his office and stared at the database open on the computer screen. The Annie Perez he’d met earlier today hadn’t been a real-estate agent in California. Didn’t mean she hadn’t been one someplace else, which was why he reserved judgment on the woman and stopped poking around looking for info on her. He had no real reason to check her out—she’d done nothing wrong. Still, something told him it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get to know her a little better.

The only thing he couldn’t figure out was whether his interest was strictly professional. He really didn’t want to think about it being anything more. He was good at hunches; bad at lying to himself.

* * *

WHEN ANNIE WOKE UP the following morning, she felt as if she’d been run over and left for dead. Spencer had ended up in her bed at some point. She’d forgotten when. Some vague notion of 2:24 a.m., muttering “climb in” and then spending the rest of the night being kicked by a mule.

She rolled over and looked at the mule sleeping peacefully on his back, mouth slack, brown hair sticking up like Billy Idol and jammies riding up over a plump little tummy.

Little devil should be on a soccer team.

She yawned in the bleary light escaping into the room through the heavy brocade drapes over the long windows. Had to be around 6:00 a.m. Her internal alarm clock woke her whether she needed to sleep longer or not. Leftover habit from high school when getting up had rested squarely on her shoulders.