Scanlin's Law - Susan Amarillas

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warred with fear—fear of herself and him and the sudden flare of pleasure she’d felt when he first walked in here. What kind of a woman was she to have even the barest trembling of desire when her son was missing?

      Without thinking, she took a retreating step back. “Why are you doing this?”

      “Because you need me.”

      “I don’t need you,” she countered emphatically.

      “Well, you need someone, ‘cause even I can see that Brody’s not getting the job done. I do this for a living, and I’m damned good at it.”

      That she had no doubt about. It was the needing-him part that was grating on her already raw nerves. She needed Luke Scanlin like she needed to be trampled in a stampede, but it all came down to this: Brody was next to useless. Luke had managed to get more from the man in the past few minutes than she’d managed since last night. Andrew was out there, and if it would help her get her son back, she’d dance with the devil himself. Looking at Luke’s hypnotic black eyes, she had a sinking feeling that the dance was about to begin.

      “There’s a guest room at the top of the stairs.” She gestured with her head. “I’ll have the maid show you.”

      “I can track down a guest room.” He smiled, and this time he touched her shoulder, very lightly.

      It was the second time he’d touched her. The second time those familiar shivers had skittered up her spine. No! She wouldn’t give in to him. Not this time. Not ever again. Needing distance, she moved away. “Third door on the left.” She fumbled with the ebony buttons on her coat. “The bed’s made, and I’ll have towels brought in when I return. The housekeeper’s been sick. She’ll be back tomorrow. My mother-in-law will be here tonight.”

      Luke smiled. It was a lopsided smile, filled with enough roguish charm to melt the coldest heart. If she stood here looking at that smile much longer, her knees were going to melt, that was for certain.

      “I’ll be back later.” She was reaching for the shiny brass doorknob when his hand on her shoulder turned her to face him again. His dark brows were drawn together in a frown.

      “Back? What do you mean, back? Where are you going?”

      “Out.” She made a show of tugging on her kidskin gloves while she slipped free of his touch. Darn those goose bumps.

      Luke’s expression drew down. “Out? Why, for heaven’s sake? The police will be here in an hour, and then—”

      “I’m going now.” She turned the knob and pulled the door partially open. The rain dripped from the roof and made noisy plick-plops on the wooden planks of the porch. The sudden draft felt blessedly cold against the side of her face.

      “Look,” he started to say with a nod—a gesture Rebecca suspected was meant to pacify rather than to indicate agreement. He grasped the edge of the open door, holding it firmly, and looked at her in a way that was all too familiar, a way that brought better-forgotten memories rushing to the surface faster than lava in a volcano, and just as hot.

      “This is crazy. We’re gonna cover the same ground in an hour.” He pushed on the door.

      Rebecca held fast, as though this were a test of wills between them. Accepting help was one thing, surrender was another. This felt like giving in. “I’m going.” She pulled, and he released his hold on the door.

      She slipped out and pulled the heavy oak door closed behind her. She knew he was watching her through the clear etched glass. Until thirty minutes ago, she had thought she’d closed the door on Luke Scanlin just as easily. It seemed she was wrong.

      Chapter Two

      Rebecca took the front steps in five firm strides. She was angry, and it wasn’t until the rain splattered against her cheeks that she realized she’d forgotten to take an umbrella. Clenched-jawed and angry, she kept going. She’d drown before she’d go back in there. She’d had enough of him for now. She’d had enough of him for good.

      Raindrops clung to her eyelashes, and she swiped them away with the back of her gloved hand, then yanked her hood farther forward—not that it did much good. It was raining like hell. By the time she turned through the gate, her coat was soaked and the wet had penetrated through to her dress. Goose bumps were prickling across her shoulders, and a shiver was inching down her spine.

      She made a sharp left turn that would have been the envy of any military cadet. Thunder rumbled, but failed to silence the steady click-clack of her heels on the concrete sidewalk. Her coat flopped open with each step, further drenching her dress. Nothing and no one was cooperating—not the police, not the weather, and not even the good Lord, it seemed. She cast her eyes upward. “How could you do this to me? Luke? You sent me Luke?”

      With a sigh of resignation, she increased her pace, and promptly stepped in an ankle-deep puddle for her trouble.

      “Thanks,” she muttered, and kept going.

      She passed the Johnson mansion, four colors of clapboard and geegaws in the latest style. Circus tent was the thought that flashed in her mind as she paused long enough to scan the yard and porch for the third time since Andrew had disappeared. The Hogans’, next door, was more sedate—plain, white siding and blue trim, the usually pale green roof shingles now forest-dark from the rain.

      A delivery wagon rumbled past, splashing her with more water. “Hey!” she hollered, but the driver kept going. So did she, scanning the yard yet again.

      All the while, she kept thinking that Andrew was out here and Luke was back there. She wished it was the other way around. She wished Luke was gone—back to Texas or Wyoming or Timbuktu, anywhere but here. Part of her wanted to deny it, pretend it wasn’t true, pretend that Luke Scanlin, the man who had changed her life forever, the one man who unknowingly had the power to ruin her life, wasn’t sitting in her parlor.

      She stopped still. He’d be there tonight. He’d be sleeping down the hall. He’d talk to Ruth. Oh, no! Oh, no, this wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t going to take this kind of risk, not again.

      When she got home, she was going to send him packing. That was all there was to it. She didn’t have to explain or justify herself to him. In fact, the more she thought on it, the more she thought she didn’t even need him.

      Brody’s going to find Andrew, right?

      Sure. “I’ll have the men keep an eye out,” he had said. Yes, that would go a long way toward finding Andrew, she thought, her heart sinking as she faced reality.

      Okay, so Brody was unreliable. Luke’s take-charge attitude obviously was going to get the job done, she admitted—only to herself, and only because she was alone.

      Since she was admitting things, she’d also admit she should have stayed at the house, should have waited for the search parties he was organizing. And yes, dammit, she was grateful for his help.

      A smile tickled her lips. It had been something to see, watching Luke put that pompous Brody in his place. One side of her mouth actually curved upward in a sort of smile—not a real one, though. She wouldn’t give Luke that much.

      Water splashed and soaked up her stockings as she stepped off the curb and crossed the street. What are you getting all worked up about? she asked herself. You can handle Luke Scanlin. You’re not affected by him anymore, remember?

      Not affected by Luke Scanlin anymore? Yes, she remembered. That first year, she’d said it to herself more often than a nun would say the rosary.

      She was entirely different from the way she had been at eighteen, a young girl whose head was full of adventure and romance. A young girl waiting for her knight in shining armor to whisk her away to his castle.

      There were darned few knights in San Francisco, but a real Texas cowboy had come awfully close. She’d met Luke Scanlin at a party.

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