Cry Uncle Read Free Page A

calm.
Experience had taught her that just because a man was impeccably
dressed didn’t mean he was safe. And really, this man—Joe, her
neighbor Kitty had told her... Beneath the baggy shirt and the
decrepit jeans she discerned a lithe, lean body. Behind the stubble
of whisker and the shaggy auburn hair he had a lively face, his
smile producing a dimple on one side, his nose long and straight
and his eyes as blue as a summer sky, two lovely spots of light in
the gloom of his low-rent bar.
    The Shipwreck, she recalled, glancing away
from Joe long enough to remind herself of where she was. It was an
apt name for the place. The rowdy, motley customers might well have
washed ashore from some disaster.
    In a very real sense, so had Pamela.
    He continued to hold out the wine glass. If
she took it, she might be tempted to consume its contents in one
gulp—assuming the glass didn’t slip from her hand and shatter on
the floor. That was a strong possibility, given how slick with
sweat her palms were.
    His smile widened. It really was a charming
smile, despite his rumpled appearance. Either that or she was
rationalizing, trying to find a way to like this man.
    She didn’t have much choice. He was offering
her exactly what she needed: some wine and a new identity. She
might as well make the best of it.
    “ Hello,” she said,
discreetly wiping her hands on her dress.
    He shot a quick look over his shoulder, then
shrugged. “It’s kind of crowded in here. If you’d like, we could go
into my office to talk, or I could drag a couple of chairs outside.
There’s a little yard behind the building.”
    “ It might be more pleasant
outside.” She wasn’t sure she was ready to shut herself up inside
an office with him.
    He reached out and took her hand. Forget
about being shut up with him in an office—she wasn’t ready to be
touched by him. Yet she couldn’t very well make a fuss simply
because he wanted to hold hands with his future wife.
    Besides, there was nothing threatening in his
touch. His hand was as dry as hers was clammy, and his grip was
warm and strong. If only he were barbered and well-tailored and
didn’t have a silver hoop linked through his earlobe—and if only
her life weren’t completely out of kilter—she might have responded
positively to the smooth, leathery surface of his palm, the thick
bones of his fingers. She might have liked the deft way he
navigated through the crowd, smiling innocuously at people who
greeted him, ignoring one creep who gave him a salacious wink.
    Pamela wished she could ignore the creep,
too, but she couldn’t. She was too tense, too conscious of how
ludicrous this whole idea seemed.
    Joe ushered her to the rear of the barroom
and down a hall, past the men’s and ladies’ rooms to a door crowned
by a glowing red “exit” sign. He released her hand so he could grab
two chairs from a nearby stack. Then he jammed his hip against the
door, and it swung open.
    The outdoor air was nearly as dense and hot
as the indoor air, but at least it wasn’t stagnant. Instead of the
acrid aromas of cigarettes and beer, it smelled of the ocean, rich
and briny. Gravel and crushed sea shells crunched beneath her
sandals as she followed Joe into a small lot bounded by a
ramshackle fence that backed onto the buildings in the next block.
A bright spotlight fastened to the rear wall of the bar glared down
upon the yard, brighter than the moon.
    She filled her lungs with the salty air, then
attempted a smile for Joe, who was positioning the chairs he’d
dragged outside so they faced each other a safe distance apart. He
gestured toward one of the chairs and she lowered herself to sit.
Settling into the other chair, he handed her the wine.
    For a man dressed as disreputably as he, he
had good manners, at least. And that smile, and those amazing blue
eyes...
    And that earring. She took a long sip of
chardonnay and lowered the glass. And zeroed in once more on the
earring. She wondered if it was genuine