Deadly Intent

She would have done the same, she thought, still amazed that he could transform himself so effectively. No wonder he was good at undercover work. Uneasily she wondered how she would know when he was sincere about anything, then dismissed the thought. They weren’t going to get involved, so why did it matter? “Did you notice how he reacted when you said you weren’t fussy what you do?”

He nodded. “Exactly why I said it. I wanted to sound desperate enough that he’d think of me as a potential replacement for Eddy Gilgai.”

Fear gripped her anew. “Most of the work Eddy did was probably shady.” And had cost him his life, she couldn’t help thinking.

“So Max needs someone with the same low morality to fill Gilgai’s shoes. Don’t be surprised if Ryan Smith acquires a police record by tomorrow.”

“You’re good at this,” she said, not sure she meant it as a compliment.

“I’m good at a lot of things. I’m also very, very persistent,” he added, his tone redolent with meaning.

“You will take care, won’t you?”

“Worried about me, sweetie?” There was laughter in his voice as he mimicked Max, lacing the endearment with a heavy dose of saccharine.

“Only if you keep calling me that. I think I liked you better when you were acting tame and meek.”

They cleared the town limits and twin beams of light leaped ahead of them as he switched the headlights to high beam. A red kangaroo trampolined across their path, disappearing into the well of darkness beyond the road. “You’d never be happy with tame and meek.”

She felt as jumpy as the kangaroo. “How do you know what I’d be happy with?” Particularly when she didn’t know herself.

“I know you better than you want me to. We’re two of a kind.”

Cleansing anger washed away some of her diffidence. “Is that supposed to be flattering?”

“It’s simply fact.”

“I take back what I said. You’re definitely not meek or tame. You’re bossy and pigheaded.”

He gave a low laugh. “As I said, two of a kind.”

He’d achieved one thing. No longer drained and tired, she felt charged with energy and a desire to lash out at something—or someone. She simmered for the rest of the drive home, only remembering that she’d agreed to share the bottle of wine with him when they pulled up outside the old cottage.

She stayed where she was. “I’ve changed my mind. I’d rather go home.”

He got out. “Suit yourself. I won’t be long.”

Watching him go inside, she was sorely tempted to slide across and drive herself back to the homestead. But she was too well schooled in outback courtesy. If anything went wrong, he would be stranded here. She couldn’t do it.

“One drink, nothing else,” she muttered to herself and followed him inside.

He was already levering the cork out of the chilled Chablis with an old-fashioned opener. “Don’t jackeroos just knock the top off the bottle?” she asked.

“Waste of good wine.” He poured some into glasses. Two glasses, she noted. He’d been very sure she’d decide to join him.

Accepting the drink he offered, she was annoyed to find that her hand was less than steady. She raised the glass to her mouth, pleased when she didn’t spill any. The icy liquid was refreshing as she waited for the alcohol to counteract the nervous strain of a hellish night.