Winner Takes All, page 10
Colleen opened her mouth to reply, but Storm grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the Visitors’ Center and their waiting packs. All she could do was wave good-bye.
“Come on…stop flirting with Yogi Bear,” Storm growled. “We need to get back to the campground and our vehicles.”
She yanked her arm out of his grasp. “You shouldn’t act so rude. He saved us time.”
Storm’s long-legged stride carried him to the covered entrance of the limestone building. “You shouldn’t feel the need to flirt with every man you come across.”
“I’m being nice. You should try it sometime, and I’m not a flirt.” She huffed with the effort of keeping pace.
“You are not nice, and you use people to get what you want.”
“Oh really?” Colleen picked up her pack and slung it over her shoulders. Her temper flared. “Here you go again…hurling accusations in my face. What did I want from you back in DC when I helped you with the Metro?”
Storm marched silently until they reached their cars, and then stopped. “I haven’t figured out your game, but I know you have one.”
“You’re impossible. My only game is to win.” Opening the rear door of her car, she tossed in her pack. “I’ve never met someone so thick headed. What game were you playing last night when you put the moves on me?” His face turned as red as the autumn leaves surrounding them.
“I was cold,” he sputtered. “Don’t think too highly of yourself, princess. I wanted nothing more from you than extra body heat.”
She didn’t stop the spreading grin. “And our kiss? Was that about capturing my body heat?”
“I didn’t kiss you.” He swung open the door to his car. “Except in your dreams.”
Laughing at his flustered expression, she hopped into the driver’s seat and started the ignition.
He’d been right to accuse her of playing games. But her goal was not mean spirited. Exactly the opposite. She wished he’d loosen up.
As a child, Storm had been tightly wound. He suffered stomachaches due to anxiety, and his surly personality might be his way of coping with those same issues as an adult. During his time away, Storm had grown into a man and became a father. He was good-looking, strong, and smart. So, why was he still holding on to the baggage of his youth?
As she drove out of Mammoth Cave National Park, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her eyes stared back accusingly. How dare she judge Storm for holding on to the past when she was just as much a prisoner to it herself. Every day, she lived with the insecurity and fear her dad created inside her. After moving back home as an adult, she still felt compelled to win his approval. Why did she try so hard to impress an alcoholic?
Because a lifetime of learned behavior didn’t go away in the blink of an eye.
She had a four-hour drive through the scenic mountains and foothills of Tennessee and didn’t want to spend the entire trip psychoanalyzing her and Storm’s childhood traumas. She focused on winning the prize money. The veterans she’d help were deserving. What they had endured made her family’s problems seem small.
A deep longing for her mom hit her heart, and her chest tightened. To Colleen, her mom was an enigma, like a patron saint, always with her in spirit but not a real part of her life. Since losing her mom at a young age, she didn’t have many solid memories of their short time together. Now as an adult, she wished she had a mother to go to for advice. If she hadn’t acted like a spoiled child the day of the car accident, her mom would still be alive.
Long enough for a pity party.
She turned on the radio, and the upbeat melody of “All Shook Up” caused her left foot to tap along to the beat. A fitting send-off for a trip to Graceland.
****
At three pm, Storm boarded a small bus and took the short ride across the street to Graceland. His first stop once inside the mansion—the Jungle Room. Standing in the viewing hall, he glanced around the legendary space. Green shag carpeted the floor, and wood paneling covered three of the four walls. The fourth wall was wrapped in faux greenery and brick. The room looked like a trip to Hawaii on LSD—wild with a hint of crazy.
Under a hanging red flag sat a basket of clues.
Time to sing the Blues—at The Blues Hall. Your Choice: either sing on stage with the band or dance with a partner for one song. Doors open at five pm.
Colleen stepped beside him and glanced around the room. “I should hire Elvis’s decorator for my next house.”
Whether he wanted her presence or not, she always seemed to be nearby. Almost like they’d established some strange gravitational pull. “A carpeted ceiling looks great in any living room.” With his success at each stop, Storm’s mood lifted. The farther he traveled, the closer he got to the million dollars.
“We’re supposed to go to the Blues Hall. Do you know where that is?” Colleen pointed at the paper in her hands.
He shrugged. “No idea.”
They exited the home through a side door.
Colleen sprinted ahead and flagged a couple of tourists strolling by. After a brief conversation, she darted toward the bus that took them back to the parking lot.
He fumed and ran after her. Did she really think she’d leave without sharing the location of the Blues Hall? “What happened to working as a team?”
“Calm down.” She rolled her eyes. “The bus wouldn’t leave without you. Follow me to Beale Street. The Blues Hall is down by Handy Park.”
Back at his car, he scanned the parking lot for other competitors’ cars. Not a one. He and Colleen must be in the lead. On the drive to Beale Street, he maneuvered like a racing pro to keep up. Her turns were performed last second with no blinker. On the ramp to the freeway, she gunned it, and for several minutes, he’d lost sight of her. Since he hadn’t looked at the map before they’d left, he was totally reliant on Colleen. A stupid move on his part.
Just as he pulled up behind her, she rocketed from the far left lane over to the exit ramp on the right. Horns blasted as he jerked the steering wheel to follow across the lanes of traffic.
Once parked, he marched over to meet her by her car, temper burning. “Don’t tell me to follow you then go drive like a maniac.”
She grabbed her pack out of the back seat and turned to face him. “You drive like an old lady.”
“You tried to lose me.” He moved to within inches, and his gaze swept her face and down her body. “What’s the matter, Colleen? You threatened by me?”
A red flush crept up Colleen’s neck to color her cheeks. “Threatened by you? Not likely.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. Heated blood pulsed through his veins. “Admit the truth. I’m tougher, smarter, and always got the best of you.”
“You’re so full of it.” She pushed off his chest. “The last time you got the best of me was junior year, when you put the ad in the newspaper for lice treatment using my school picture.”
Storm grinned. “I forgot about the lice ad. I really got you good.” He nudged her with his elbow. “Come on…admit it.”
“Humph.” She walked away. “I wouldn’t admit anything. People called me lice-head for the rest of the school year.” Jerking to a halt, she rounded on him. “I don’t need underhanded tactics to win.”
“All right.” Storm took a step back, hands raised. “Sorry about the nickname. Kids can be cruel.”
“I know.” Her gaze dropped to her feet.
“Come on.” Taking her hand, he pulled her forward. “Enough fighting. Let’s go.”
With Colleen at his side, he followed the sound of music to Beale Street. People lazily strode along the sidewalk, seemingly with nowhere to go. Jazz and Blues drifted out of the establishments he passed. A few bars of melody hung in the air, and then he’d move along and another song took its place.
Above a teal awning hung a blue sign with white letters reading Blues Hall. No other contestants were in sight. Right now, he and Colleen were in first place. The thrill of success sparked in his chest. But he’d have to wait for almost an hour before the hall opened. By then, who knew how many others would have caught up?
Colleen sat on the sidewalk with her back resting on the building and closed her eyes.
How could she even think of sleeping? He was too keyed up to rest. Still standing, he observed the crowds moving by and watched for the now-familiar faces of his opponents.
“You know…if we’re working together, you should trust me.” Colleen glanced up and shielded her eyes with her hand.
“No way. And if you’re smart, you won’t trust me, either.” He turned away and put an end to the conversation. Trust had to be earned, and right now, it came with too high a cost.
When the doors to the Blues Hall finally swung open, Storm and Colleen were still the only ones waiting outside. Finally, luck was on his side.
The building was fairly empty, beside the bartender, several waitresses, and the band on the small stage. The place smelled like stale cigarette smoke and beer—a fragrance produced from the classic mixture of music and booze.
“Sing or dance?” Colleen asked while they waited for the band to warm up.
“I can’t sing to save my life. I’m finding someone to dance with.” Storm stepped away toward a group of waitresses by the bar.
She reached out and jerked his arm. “If you’re dancing with anyone, you’re dancing with me.” Stepping out onto the dance floor, she curved a finger for him to follow.
Torn between humor and irritation, he joined the bossy woman. Of all the people in the world, he’d joined forces with her.
Tables and chairs had been pushed against the wall, leaving a small space of well-worn wooden planks. A few chords sounded from a bass guitar, followed by the rhythmic beating of a drum. The band’s singer, a black man wearing a stylish cobalt suit and a gray fedora, stepped to the microphone. His deep baritone voice crackled through the speakers on stage.
Storm placed an arm around Colleen’s waist and pulled her close. His other hand smoothed back the strands of hair on her face. She was soft and warm, and smelled as good as he remembered.
Their bodies swayed with the strong beat of the music.
“Just can’t shake loose these chains and things.” The singer’s soulful voice echoed off the walls.
Colleen swung her hips and dipped low. Her face lifted with the seductive curve of her lips.
She played with him, and at that moment, he didn’t care. He didn’t give thought to the camera man standing in the corner, recording their dance. The music had cast a spell, like a snake charmer’s flute for a cobra. He couldn’t take his gaze off Colleen and the way her body moved with his.
Her hand moved to the back of his neck and fingered the curls of his hair. “Why didn’t I see it sooner?” she whispered. Her other hand rose until it rested on his shoulder and caressed the muscles lying just beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
“See what?” He swallowed hard.
“You…the man you’d become.”
Storm shivered under her light touch. “I may have grown up, but I can’t forget what you did the night before graduation.”
“I know.” She closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest. “I’ll never forgive myself for what happened at the party. I didn’t know they’d be so cruel. I’m sorry, Storm.”
Memories of the worst night of his life washed over him. Colleen had taken part, exploiting his teenage hormones to lure him to a private spot. Once she’d left, members of the varsity football team took care of the rest. They tied him to a tree and took turns pounding his gangly, teenage body until he passed out.
Was she aware of the true extent of what happened? That he spent all night in the cold and bleeding? The rope cut so tight into his wrists, he’d spent painful hours working to get free. Remembering the pain, he shivered. No use thinking about high school. Now, he was a grown man and a father of a wonderful girl. And he had a competition to win.
The song ended, and so did Storm’s chain of thought.
Colleen hurried toward the bar to take the envelope from the bartender’s hand.
Once he regained his focus, Storm followed.
Another contestant darted inside.
Darn. His pulse and pace quickened with renewed urgency. As he exited the bar, Storm ripped open the envelope.
You might be familiar with the never-ending party that is New Orleans, but this state offers another kind of wildlife. Outside the city of Lake Charles, the Gator Bayou Tour Company awaits your arrival. Hours of operation: nine am to five pm. Rent a kayak and paddle through the bayou in search of alligators. Use your digital camera to take pictures of three different alligators. Then head back to the docks to find Cajun Jim. He will provide your next clue.
He sprinted back to his vehicle and drove away, not waiting for Colleen, who couldn’t run at his speed. Putting distance between them was imperative. She’d gotten under his skin—like a tick. A pesky, annoying, dangerous, but breathtakingly beautiful tick.
****
Colleen drove until seven-thirty then found a small town in Mississippi to stop for the night and sleep. The Safe House along this route was too far away to arrive before curfew. As she drove into town, she searched the main road for a decent motel. The first one she saw looked like the Bates Motel from Psycho. Nope. Rather not get stabbed to death while in the shower.
The next one she found was only marginally better, but she was running out of time. She put away her pride and parked under a rotating neon sign that flashed Vacancy. When the elderly man working the front desk handed her a room key, she nearly doubled over with exhaustion. Her arms hung heavy and weak. The simple walk to the motel room became as draining as if she was moving underwater. An intense throbbing pulsed behind her eyes. She needed sleep but hunger won.
After dropping off her pack inside her room, she shuffled over to the family restaurant across the parking lot. With her tummy content from the club sandwich and fries she’d downed, she savored a hot shower and collapsed into bed. Something was missing tonight—more like someone. Last night, inside the tent, she enjoyed the comfort of Storm’s presence. Now, with worry weighing heavy on her heart, she drifted off to sleep under a blanket of renewed loneliness.
Chapter Twelve
Day 5
The next morning, as the sun rose over the eastern horizon, Colleen drove south. The landscape passing by her car window turned lush and green. Spanish moss hung from tree branches like velvet draperies. At a freeway truck stop, she bought a protein bar and a bottle of water. The welcoming, thick Southern accent of the cashier was delightful.
Once back on the road, she thought ahead to the kayak trip through the bayou and the waiting alligators. Despite the warmth, she quivered. She imagined gleaming white rows of teeth in the open mouth of the leathery beast. Heaven help her get through this next task.
She made good time and didn’t hit much traffic going through Baton Rouge, arriving in Lake Charles by ten-thirty. A friendly woman at the visitor center off Interstate 10 gave her directions to Gator Bayou Tour Company. After a fifteen-minute drive past hulking oil refineries and down a dead-end road, she saw the sign in the shape of an alligator, which marked her destination.
She parked next to Storm’s car, grabbed her camera, and ran to the little shack serving as the ticket booth. Her stomach threatened to toss up her protein bar at the sight of the small kayak she’d entrust with her life. The smell of stagnant water didn’t help, either.
After receiving a few brief instructions, she descended into a kayak and paddled out into the murky water. Algae floated on the still water surface like Elvis’s shag carpet. Tall trees loomed above, their roots somehow set firm in the earth of the muddy swamp.
She paddled for twenty minutes, while her gaze darted back and forth, searching for telltale ripples on the water’s surface. She wanted to find an alligator, but then again, she didn’t. Her heart beat a staccato rhythm, fast and hard. Starbursts flashed in her vision. Her brain screamed to turn around and go back. A panic attack loomed.
A long time had passed since her last one during the final days of writing her doctorate dissertation. She remembered vividly the warning signals her body sent off before her anxiety fully crested. Colleen forced her breathing to slow. She closed her eyes in order to refocus. Holding the kayak paddle out of the water with shaking hands, she sat still and allowed her body to fall into relaxation. Forget about the competition, forget about the alligators, and forget about Storm. Focus on the here and now.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. Fighting her body’s natural reflex to tense, she stayed calm. Directly ahead, above the water line, floated a bumpy log with two black eyes. Making slow movements, she lifted her camera and snapped a picture.
The alligator disappeared under the water, sliding away without any surface movement.
Yuck. One down—only two more to go. Then she could get the heck out of here. Luck played nicely today, and she found two more alligators fairly easily. She paddled back to the dock and approached a narrow passage, when two other contestants came from the opposite direction.
She wasn’t willing to concede the right of way, and the two other women stared back, unmoving—which meant she was at an impasse in the narrow section of the waterway.
The other two kayakers moved forward.
As she found herself pushed backward, she cursed under her breath.
“Your boyfriend’s leaving you behind,” Jody, the kayaker on the right, taunted.
Every time she saw Jody, the woman wore a smirk. With dark hair and a tall, lean body, Jody might be pretty if she ever lost the condescending attitude. “You mean Storm?” Why would anyone think he was her boyfriend? Didn’t they notice his look of aggravation every time they were together?
“Yeah. The really hot guy who’s always wearing tight T-shirts.” The other female kayaker, Betty, brushed off a bug from her bare shoulder. Her olive complexion showed only a hint of pink from the sun.
“Storm and I have teamed up on occasion, but we aren’t in a relationship.” Colleen was finally back far enough so the two kayakers could pass. They moved around her, one on each side, like a pair of wolves preparing for an attack.
