The Seduction of Goody Two-Shoes

he kept swallowing. He for sure hoped she never guessed how the sight of those ripe-cherry lips of hers drenched in melted chocolate was making his mouth water.

He had his hand on the ignition key when she said quietly, “I’d pay you. Very well. There’s a lot at stake…”

“A lot of money, you mean.”

She jerked her head to give him a sharp, almost guilty look. “Of course, what did you think I meant? Yes, there’s a lot of money involved. I-my husband and I-would be willing to split it with you-” she paused, and he could see her thinking it over “-three ways.”

McCall shook his head, but he couldn’t keep from smiling as he turned the key. “Sorry,” he said, as the Beetle’s ignition, for the first time in memory, fired on the first try.

“Fifty-fifty,” she said breathlessly. He put his hand on the gearshift. She reached over and placed her hand on his. “Please-think about it. That’s a lot of money. I don’t think you realize-”

“I have all the money I need,” he growled, shaking his head. Not looking at her. Wishing she’d take her hand off his. Hoping she’d leave it there.

She made a little sound of frustration as she took her hand from his, finally, and gestured with it toward the jumble of canvasses in the back seat. “Business must be very good.” Hard to miss the sarcasm.

In spite of it, he kept his face and tone serene. “My needs are simple.” He tossed away his cigarette and waited for a bus full of tourists returning from a visit to the ruins to go by, then pulled out into its exhaust wake.

He thought about lighting up another cigarette, but for some reason didn’t. Beside him, Cinnamon sat in silence, staring as intently as he at the road ahead. After a while she said in a voice that was even scratchier than usual: “What if I said to name your price?”

He didn’t know why that got to him, but it did. He smacked the steering wheel hard with his open palm. “Damn it, woman, it’s not about money.”

Again that breathlessness. “I said price. It doesn’t have to be money.”

He shot her a look. Surely she hadn’t meant that the way she could have meant it. Not this woman-Miss Goody Two-Shoes from Iowa with her cinnamon freckles and Nikes, smuggler of illegal animals, wholesome as molasses cookies… Ah, hell.

“I meant,” he said between clenched teeth, “that money isn’t everything. Maybe you’re not old enough to have found that out yet, but it’s true. Some things are more important than money-like my life, for instance. I mean, my lifestyle. I like my life. I live simply, quietly, no hassles. Live and let live. I don’t bother anybody and nobody bothers me. Zero stress-you get it? That’s the way I want it. And one thing I’ve found out, sister, is that the more money you have, the more stress. Let me tell you, I’ve had it and I don’t want it anymore. You can keep your money.”

“You could give it away. There must be something you care about.” Her voice sounded shaken; he could feel her eyes on him, so intense he felt their heat. Like sitting in the sun.

He stuck his lip out, pretending to think about it, then shook his head. “Nope,” he said, “can’t think of a thing. Just numero uno…”

“So,” she said tightly, suddenly angry, “you’ve dropped out of the world, is that it? Now you just… sit here with your head in the sand and let somebody else take responsibility for what happens to this planet and the creatures that live on it.”

He gave a hoot of astounded laughter. “Listen to you, Miss Goody Two-Shoes! Don’t tell me you care about this earth’s poor creatures.”

“Of course I care,” she shouted, and to his astonishment her voice cracked, as if she were only a good breath away from crying. “I own a pet shop, remember? Do you know what it’s like to see those animals, the way they ship them? Those parrots you paint-can you imagine one of those beautiful creatures crammed into a cardboard tube designed to hold tennis balls? They even stuff them into the wheelwells of cars. To cross deserts! They arrived cooked.” She paused, breathing hard. “I’m just trying to put a stop to it,” she said, and after a moment finished in a whisper, “That’s all.”

Well, damn. She sure sounded as if she meant that. Damned if he didn’t almost believe her. Which was more than he could say for some of the things she’d told him. That way she had of blushing, sometimes, while she was telling him something ordinary. He had to wonder about that blush.

He drove in silence, thinking about it as he threaded his way along the main tourist street, pastel tourist hotels on one side, palm trees and beach and aquamarine water on the other, para-sailers gliding through the afternoon sky like butterflies darting and dipping above the lazy surf. Familiar sights to him, after so many years.

I like my life…it’s the way I want it. No hassles…

He pulled into the taxi zone closest to the pier and parked, putting the VW in neutral but keeping the motor putt-putting away.

His passenger had her door open almost before he’d stopped, but then, instead of getting out, she turned to him and in that oddly prim little way she had, all stiffened up with pride, said once again, “Thank you.” Then she let out a breath and smiled-wryly, but a smile nonetheless. He realized it had been a long time since he’d seen it. “For saving me-again. I’m not sure what you saved me from, but I’m sure it wouldn’t have been pleasant. So…thank you. I mean it. Mister-it’s McCall, right?”

“No mister. Just McCall.” He took the hand she offered. It was unbelievably small, almost childlike. He found himself suddenly remembering her kiss, and the feel of her body tucked up against him. Nothing childlike about that. No sir.

“And you’re…Ellie.” Yeah, he remembered it now. Such a gentle name for a cinnamon girl. “Ellie…what?” He asked her that belatedly, remembering that she had a husband. Asking himself what did it matter what her name was, in that case. He was many things, but a seducer of other men’s wives wasn’t one of them.

“Ellie’s enough.” But she gave him her smile-the real one, briefly-before she got out of the car. Then she leaned down and said through the open window, “It’s short for Rose Ellen Lanagan. My dad’s Mike Lanagan.” She straightened and walked away quickly, toward the pier.

McCall stared after her. Mike Lanagan. Was that supposed to mean something? Why did that sound so familiar to him? Something from his former life… He shook his head once, hard, forcing the memory back into the dusty attic of his past.

More germane to the present, if that was her dad’s name-Lanagan-why had she given him her maiden instead of her married name?

And something else. Why didn’t she seem worried about having told him all this? Hadn’t it even occurred to her that he might go straight to the police?

And what about that, McCall? What are you going to do? Live and let live?

He was chewing on that when he noticed something that turned him cold all over. The envelope, the one the cigar-smoking boss-thug had given him. The one containing directions to a meeting with smugglers of illegal animals. Smugglers who, according to Miss Ellie, didn’t seem to care how many of their cargo lived or died. People, therefore, with little or no regard for life, animal or human.

She had that envelope in her hand.

He shut off the motor and got out of the VW and called to her over the roof. She paused and turned to look back at him. “What are you going to do?” he asked her, nodding toward the envelope.

She glanced down as if surprised to see it there, then lifted it, gazed at it, turned it over once. Shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said, and started walking again.

Live and let live. It seemed a fading memory to him now.

He jammed his keys into his pocket and set out after her at a jog trot. Which was more exercise than he was used to on a hot muggy afternoon, which, he told himself, was why he was out of breath and his heart beating hard when he caught up with her.

“Come on, Ellie,” he panted, shortening his customary lazy stride to match her short quick one. “Can’t you just let it go? For now, at least? Hey, at least until your husband’s back on his feet?”

She stopped walking and looked up at him, rosy from the sun and the heat and the exertion. He had a sudden and thoroughly shameful urge to take her in his arms and kiss her, husband or no.