Cry Wolf Read Online Free Page A

mouth was set in sterner lines again above a strong, stubborn-looking chin that sported an inch-long diagonal scar. He looked tough and dangerous suddenly, and the transformation from the laughing, affable, wicked-grinned devil he'd been inside sent a shiver of apprehension down Laurel's back. He looked like a streetwise, predatory male, and she couldn't help second-guessing her judgment in following him out here. Then he smiled, teeth flashing bright in the gloom, dimples cutting into his cheeks, and the world tilted yet again beneath her feet.
    “I have it on good authority that hound belongs to you, Mr. Boudreaux.” She dove into the argument, eager for the familiar ground of a good fight. She didn't like being caught off balance, and Jack Boudreaux seemed to be a master at throwing her.
    He wagged a finger at her, tilting his head, a grin still teasing the corners of his mouth. “Jack. Call me Jack.”
    “Mr.—”
    “Jack.” His gaze held hers fast. He looked lazy and apathetic leaning back against the Jeep, but a thread of insistence had woven its way into the hoarse, smoky texture of his voice.
    He was distracting her, but more than that, he was trying to do something she didn't want—put the conversation on a more personal level.
    He shifted his weight forward, suddenly invading her personal space, and she had to fight to keep from jumping back as her tension level rose into the red zone. She gulped down her instinctive fear and tilted her chin up to look him in the eye.
    “I don't even know your name, '
tite ange
,” he murmured.
    “Laurel Chandler,” she answered, breathless and hating it. Her nerves gave a warning tremor as control of the situation seemed to slip a little further out of her grasp.
    “Laurel,” he said softly, trying out the sound of it, the feel of it on his tongue. “Pretty name. Pretty lady.” He grinned as something like apprehension flashed in her wide eyes. “Did you think I wouldn't notice?”
    She swallowed hard, leaning all her weight back on her heels. “I—I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”
    “Liar,” he charged mildly.
    With his free hand he reached up and slid her glasses off, dragging them down her nose an inch at a time. When they were free, he turned them over and nibbled on the earpiece absently as he studied her in the pale white light.
    Her bone structure was lovely, delicate, feminine, her features equally so, her skin as flawless as fresh cream. But she wore no makeup, no jewelry, nothing to enhance or draw the eye. Her thick, dark hair had been shorn just above her shoulders and looked as though she gave no thought to it at all, tucking it behind her ears, sweeping it carelessly back from her face.
    Laurel Chandler. The name stirred around through the soft haze of liquor in his brain, sparking recognition. Chandler. Lawyer. The light bulb clicked on. Local deb. Daughter of a good family. Had been a prosecuting attorney up in Georgia someplace until her career went ballistic. Rumors had abounded around Bayou Breaux. She'd blown a case. There'd been a scandal. Jack had listened with one ear, automatically eavesdropping the way every writer did, always on the alert for a snatch of dialogue or a juicy tidbit that could work itself into a plot.
    “What are you wearing these for?” he asked, lifting the glasses.
    “To see with,” Laurel snapped, snatching them out of his hand. She really needed them only to read, but he didn't have to know that.
    “So you can see, or so the rest of us can't see you?”
    She gave a half laugh of impatience, shifting position in a way that put another inch of space between them. “This conversation is pointless,” she declared as her nerves stretched a little tighter.
    He had struck far too close to the truth with his seemingly offhand remark. He appeared to be half drunk and completely self-absorbed, but Laurel had the sudden uncomfortable feeling that there might be more to Jack Boudreaux than met the eye. A cunning