Dangerous Waters Read Online Free PDF Page A

somehow conjured from his dreams. Dark hair floating about her in the water, unfathomable eyes, arms that had held him as tightly as a mother afraid of losing her child. He had been dying, losing himself in a kaleidoscope of memories and regret that had begun to fade into darkness. And then she'd appeared, demanding his trust. That bond was not easily shaken now.
    But already the part of him that had learned early not to trust was doubting. His memory had more than once kept him alive when other men would have died. And that memory told him he'd seen her face before.
    Not that she was beautiful. Her face was too strong, her eyes too cool. The dark slash of brows was balanced by a stubborn chin. In between she had a small, straight nose, a scattering of freckles, and an unexpectedly soft, generous mouth. Her hair was the color of dark Belgian chocolate, glossy and thick. Today she had worn it in a fat braid down her back. Slim, she had the narrow hips, long legs, and wide shoulders of an athlete. He hadn't been thinking about her sexuality—or his—but he'd noticed her body, all right. It was her eyes, though, that made her unforgettable.
    He could swear he had never met her. But, damn it, he had seen her. He knew he had. It tugged at the edge of his mind, he could almost remember. A long time ago, he thought, and something was different about her. The woman—no, girl—he saw was younger, more vulnerable. But definitely her. And that made him nervous. Who the hell was she? Someone's sister, someone's daughter? Or was he being paranoid? Maybe he'd only seen her picture in a magazine, passed her in the mall one day!
    He wanted it to be chance that he knew her. He wanted that so badly, it made him wary.
    He'd been a fool already to take the two strangers at face value, even though the chances of Saldivar finding him here had seemed slim. One minute he'd been enjoying the boat ride, the next, his head had seemed to explode. If the cold water hadn't slapped him awake, he would be dead now. He'd come damned close, anyway. At best he could tread water, maybe dog paddle the length of a swimming pool. His childhood hadn't been the nice suburban kind that included Red Cross swim lessons. If it hadn't been for Megan Lovell, he wouldn't have had a chance.
    He let his eyes close momentarily as he gave in to the hammering that should have split his skull. He would have liked to call the nurse for a shot of something, get rid of the pain. But that same shot would put him to sleep. And he had to think.
    He had to decide what to do now. Was it conceivable that Saldivar had found him? But he couldn't have done so without help. When Mac tried to imagine any of the four or five people who might know where he was betraying him, he failed.
    Which still left the indisputable fact that somebody had tried to kill him.
    Who? Damn it, who? Had some other ugly part of his past caught up with him? Lord knew there were enough people out there with cause to hold a grudge against him. It was sheer bad luck if he'd stumbled across one of them, but sometimes it happened. Maybe he'd been a fool to go to ground in a place where he'd vacationed in the past, in a region where he'd once worked for the Bureau. Even though it had been years ago, it wasn't inconceivable that among the summer crowd of fishermen and boaters was one man who hated him.
    Or, ludicrous though it might seem, he had to consider the possibility that in the last month he had happened on something he hadn't recognized, something that made him a threat. If so, they had made a big mistake trying to take him out. If a particularly nasty secret lurked behind the rural peace in these parts, he'd find it.
    In the meantime, he would make damned sure Megan Lovell didn't suffer for her reckless generosity. He wouldn't be able to stop a high-powered rifle; but he doubted that one would be used. No, Megan would be far more likely to suffer a convenient accident, or be killed by a "burglar" she had