Dashing Through the Snow

by Debbie Macomber

  Wilkes knew what his subordinate was asking. “The bird is keeping a safe distance from the vehicle so as not to be detected.” His fellow team members had been trained in avoiding discovery. He trusted them to handle this situation with the same expertise they had in other operations. Ashley Davison didn’t know it yet, but she was headed straight for prison. By the time she was released, if ever, Wilkes would be enjoying his retirement on a Hawaiian isle.

  —

  “Travis, do you hear that noise?” Justin asked, as they headed toward Bailey’s house, taking the slow, meandering river road.

  “What noise?” Travis asked, messing with the radio.

  “It sounds like a helicopter.”

  “So?”

  “So,” his friend said, gazing out the passenger window, “it seems to be following us.”

  Travis shook his head. Justin had a creative imagination. “You’re nuts. Why would a helicopter follow us? It isn’t like we’re escaped felons. Trading license plates can’t be anything more than a misdemeanor, if that. Even if we are caught, the courts would probably only give us community service or probation. We’re both honor students, right?”

  “I’m not,” Justin corrected. “Mrs. Lael gave me a C-minus in English.”

  “No kidding?” The fact was Travis’s grades had fallen short last semester as well. “Okay, we used to be honor students.”

  “Right.” Justin rolled down his window and stuck his head out, hoping to get a better view of the chopper.

  “See anything?”

  “Yeah, the ’copter is holding back, but it’s still keeping us in sight. It’s black.”

  “Black? Is that supposed to mean something?” Travis was amused. Justin had been reading too many spy novels. “You’re getting paranoid.”

  “Maybe…maybe not. Remember that movie we watched with Mel Gibson on Netflix a while back, the one where he had all these escape routes set up in his apartment? Everyone thought he was nuts, but in the end the government came for him and he managed to break free because he’d taken all those precautions. My dad doesn’t trust the government and neither do I. Dad and his buddies talk about it all the time.”

  “Do you seriously think there are men in black jackets who descend from helicopters, dude?”

  “Think?” Justin repeated. “I don’t need to think—there’s one following us right this minute.”

  “Do you see anyone dressed in black?”

  Justin was clearly obsessed. “No,” he admitted reluctantly.

  “Could be aliens,” Travis teased, and watched as Justin’s face reddened.

  Justin stuck his cell out the window and took a photo. “You think I’ve gone wacko, don’t you?”

  “Hey, man, I was just needling you.”

  “Well, don’t,” he muttered, and then shouted, “Hurry, take the next right.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to see what that chopper does.”

  Travis was willing to humor his friend, but as far as he could tell this conspiracy theory was ridiculous. No one was following them. It had to be Justin’s overactive imagination.

  “Oh man.” His friend’s voice lowered and actually trembled.

  “What?”

  “There’s about six cars all following us. They look like unmarked police cars.”

  Travis nearly laughed out loud. Justin was losing it. “How do you know they’re police cars?”

  “I’m telling you, they’re police or government vehicles. Who else drives black Suburbans? It’s like a funeral procession.”

  Justin made it sound as if it was their funeral. “And you think they’re after us?”

  “I know they are. Speed up, dude.”

  In an effort to appease his friend, Travis hit fifty-five in a thirty-five-mile-per-hour zone. Checking his rearview mirror, he momentarily caught sight of the six cars as he took a turn in the road. They looked like a long black snake following him along the river road, twisting and turning. Travis wasn’t caught up in the conspiracy craziness the way Justin was, but he was beginning to get worried.

  “The chopper’s closing in,” Justin shouted, his voice edged in panic.

  Travis looked up and saw two men on each side of the chopper, sitting in open doors. His own heart started to pound. They were all dressed in black. He gasped when he saw ropes descend. His fifty-five-mile-an-hour speed quickly zoomed to sixty and then seventy as the long row of cars quickly narrowed the distance between them, racing at a breakneck pace behind them.

  “What should I do?” Travis shouted. It appeared Justin wasn’t as nutso as he’d thought.

  Justin seemed paralyzed with fear and Travis wasn’t far behind. This was crazy. He looked over to see his friend had whipped out his cell and was frantically pushing numbers.

  “Who are you texting?”

  “My dad. I sent him the photo of the chopper…he’ll know what to do.”

  Travis had his foot all the way to the floor. At the next curve along the twisting road he nearly lost control. It felt as if his car had gone up on two wheels before righting itself. No matter how fast he went, the string of black cars continued to get closer. Within minutes, they were directly behind him.

  From out of nowhere, a bullhorn blast came that nearly burst Travis’s eardrums.

  “This is the FBI. Pull over.”

  “The FBI. Should I do it?” Travis asked in a panic.

  “If you do, our parents will never see us again.”

  “We might not have any choice,” Travis said, his words thick with terror. The chopper had lowered to the point that it hung directly over their moving car.

  “If I don’t show,” Travis cried, “Bailey will kill me.”

  “Then get us out of this.”

  “I’m trying.”

  But soon they were given no option. The road up ahead was blocked and the FBI was hot on their tail.

  Shaking with fear, Travis eased to a halt.

  “Put your hands up where I can see them,” the voice from the bullhorn instructed them.

  Travis and Justin thrust their arms out the open window and followed instructions.

  “Step out of the vehicle, hands where I can see them.”

  They opened the doors and climbed out of the car. Travis couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard one of the men swear, followed by a shocked voice: “It’s two kids.”

  Within seconds they were surrounded by men with their weapons drawn. Following the shouted orders, they got down on their knees with their hands locked behind their heads.

  “Check for weapons.”

  One of the agents, who seemed to be the one in charge, approached them. “What did I tell you, Buckley?” he muttered. “Davison is a master of escape. She must have traded license plates with this car. Same year, same model. The woman has eluded us once again.”

  The woman, Travis thought. The man must be talking about the woman he spoke to in the Walmart parking lot.

  “She traded plates?” the other agent asked.

  “Looks like she set us up.”

  Travis and Justin shared a look. Neither one was about to explain that the woman wasn’t responsible.

  “It’s back to square one.”

  “Not yet it isn’t,” the first agent who spoke insisted. “Not by a long shot. I’m not giving up until Davison is behind bars where she belongs.”

  Dash and Ashley stopped for gas in Ashland, Oregon. When she was in her early teens Ashley’s parents had taken her and her brother to a Shakespeare festival in Ashland. Ashley had never forgotten the experience and had fond memories of the town.

  While Dash dealt with filling up the car, Ashley took Little Blade for a short walk and gave him some water. The weather wasn’t as cold and the threat of snow had passed. Her hope was that it would be smooth driving from this point forward.

  Once back in the car, Dash eased into the freeway traffic. “Do you think you’ll like living in Seattle?” she asked. He’d already mentioned that he didn’
t know anyone in town, having been born and raised in Texas.

  “Don’t see why I wouldn’t, but don’t get ahead of yourself. I don’t have the job yet.”

  “You’ll get it.” She was confident. He’d felt equally assured earlier, but as they drew closer to their destination, doubts seemed to be forming. He seemed to have a lot of nervous energy and had grown less talkative. Ashley suspected his mind was on the upcoming interview.

  “I appreciate the positive thinking.”

  “You’ve got the training and the background,” she said, in an effort to boost his confidence. “From what you’ve told me, you’re a perfect fit. The company must need you badly to ask you to come for an interview this close to the holidays.”

  “That was my thought, too,” he added, and he seemed to relax.

  “Seattle is a great city,” she continued. “There’s so much to do living in the Pacific Northwest.” She went on to mention the hiking trails, the skiing opportunities, and boating and annual festivals, all of which she enjoyed.

  “Will you move back here once you have your degree?” Dash asked, once she’d finished talking.

  His question raised one of her own: Did he hope she would live in Seattle? Being close to family was what she wanted, but there were other factors to consider. “I hope to, but it depends on where I can find a job.”

  “I know the feeling,” he said, and then added, his voice lowering to a sexy murmur, “I hope you do.”

  Ashley’s heart raced. “You do?”

  “Your roots are in the area. It’s apparent you and your mother are close and rely on each other.”

  Ashley examined the square-cut edges of her fingernails. “So would you like it if I lived in Seattle?”

  He momentarily looked away from the road. “Yeah, I’d like it a lot.”

  For just a second Ashley couldn’t breathe. She’d met Dash a little less than twenty-four hours ago and she felt closer to him in that short amount of time than she had to any man she’d dated in a long time. Already her mind was thinking of ways for them to stay in touch after the holidays. She didn’t want to be presumptuous, and yet she felt this connection with him—this very strong connection. She knew he felt it, too.

  Unexpectedly, Dash muttered a curse under his breath.

  “What now?” she asked, checking behind her to be sure there wasn’t another patrol car pulling them over.

  “The engine light just came on,” he explained.

  The car was practically new. At one point Dash had mentioned it had less than twenty-five thousand miles on it. “What does it say?”

  “Check engine,” he clarified.

  “Not very detailed, is it?”

  “Not very timely, either. I’ll pull into one of the truck stops and find out where there’s a dealership or a good mechanic. I don’t want to take a chance of breaking down on the freeway. We could get stuck for hours.”

  Ashley agreed it would be best to deal with the problem now rather than wait for something to go wrong. Too much was at stake.

  They drove with the engine light blinking until they reached Grants Pass. Dash pulled into a truck stop and had her stay in the car while he found out what he could. He wasn’t gone more than a few minutes.

  “There’s a reliable mechanic just a mile north of here. I got the directions.”

  “Do you think we should contact the rental car people?”

  “No. They might want us to trade vehicles, and who knows how long that will take. All I want to do is find out what’s wrong and see if the car will get us to Seattle without a problem.”

  That sounded like a good idea. Ashley understood his concern. A great deal was riding on this interview, and Dash didn’t want to take a chance of anything delaying them any more than it already had.

  Dash found the repair shop without a problem and pulled up front. He climbed out of the car. By this point, Ashley was ready to stretch her legs.

  A man in gray striped overalls stepped out of the garage, a pink rag tucked into his back pocket. He wore a cap with his hair sticking out from beneath it and had a beard.

  “What can I do for you folks?” he asked. He had to be in his midfifties and rubbed his oil-smudged hands on the pink rag.

  Dash explained the problem.

  “Name’s Stan. Folks around these parts call me Stan the Man.”

  “Any particular reason?” Ashley asked, assuming it was because he was the man everyone came to when they had car troubles. She was hoping for reassurance that he would know exactly what needed to be done and would be able to fix it in a hurry and send them happily on their way.

  Dash pulled the lever to release the hood.

  “Funny you should ask,” Stan said, edging up the bill of his hat. “You see, ten years ago I was kidnapped by aliens.”

  Dash nearly hit his head on the hood of the car, he jerked up so fast. “What’d you say?”

  “I know, I know, most folks think I’m off my rocker, but the fact is I’ve been inside an alien spaceship.”

  “I see,” Ashley whispered, sorry now that she’d asked.

  “A good bit of what I know about machines and how they run came from my time with my alien friends. People come to me from all over the state because they know I’ll fix whatever’s wrong with their cars.”

  “So you’re something of an engine whisperer?” Ashley asked.

  Dash shot her a look that suggested she not get any more involved in the conversation than necessary.

  “Seeing that you’re good with engines, can you tell me what the problem is here?”

  “Sure thing.” Stan the Man leaned over the hood. “Fell in love with a hot alien chick,” he stated matter-of-factly. “She was a beaut. Actually, she kinda reminds me of you,” he said, turning his head to smile at Ashley. “Only she was seven feet tall. Maybe seven-one, now that I think about it.”

  “Oh.” Ashley took a step back.

  “She taught me a lot about the joy of alien sex. They do things in ways you and I have never even dreamed of.”

  This was definitely a subject Ashley wanted to avoid. “How nice.”

  “She had my baby, told me she’d name him after me. Never did find out if she had a boy or a girl. I was sort of hoping for a son. Never had a son. Truth is, I never married. Women around these parts are too picky.”

  “About the car,” Dash said, in a blatant effort to get Stan to focus on the problem at hand.

  “I’m getting to it. Don’t rush me. These are delicate machines and it has to talk to me first.”

  “You communicate with engines?” Ashley supposed it made sense. If he could father an alien child, then getting a car engine to talk to him must be as easy as pie.

  “Of course cars talk,” Stan the Man returned, as if that was one of the dumbest questions he’d ever heard. “Most everyone sees cars as inanimate objects, but that isn’t so. That’s another thing my alien friends taught me.” That said, Stan the Man leaned over the engine a second time. He twisted his head so his ear was close and then held up his hand as if asking for quiet. A couple times he nodded as if agreeing to what the engine had to tell him.

  Dash caught Ashley’s look and gestured helplessly with his hands. Ashley squelched a laugh. How was it that they met up with these characters? This was nuts and at the same time a lot of fun, whether Dash wanted to admit it or not. She liked Stan the Man. Okay, he was a bit odd, but he wasn’t scary. In fact, she found him cute in an odd sort of way.

  After a couple of moments, Stan the Man straightened and then scratched his forehead, leaving a smear of oil across his brow.

  “What did the engine say?” Dash asked, apparently deciding to play along with the mechanic’s unconventional methods.

  “She’s not saying much.”

  “Tight-lipped women can be a real headache,” Dash muttered. “Then again, the fact they aren’t speaking can be a blessing.”

  Ashley narrowed a look at him, scalding him with her eyes. Then she turned to the m
echanic. “The car’s a female?” she asked, and for some unexplainable reason that pleased her.

  “Most definitely,” Stan the Man assured her. “By the way, she’s glad you decided to take the puppy. Not sure what that meant, but I figured you’d know.”

  Ashley’s eyebrows shot up. Now, that was impressive.

  “I thought you said she wasn’t saying much,” Dash reminded him.

  “Well, she’s not, at least not about what seems to be troubling her, but she has lots to say about other stuff.”

  “Like what?” Ashley couldn’t help being curious.

  “The puppy, for one. She seems to have strong opinions about the two of you.”

  “Could we stick with what needs to be fixed so we can get back on the road?” Dash requested, clearly losing patience.

  “I’m trying.”

  “Maybe if we looked in the owner’s manual,” Ashley suggested, in a effort to be helpful. She slipped back into the front seat and opened the glove compartment.

  Stan the Man shook his head. “You can read all you want, but that’s not going to help.”

  Dash muttered something unintelligible and then walked away in an apparent effort to keep his cool. He glanced at his watch and Ashley knew he was calculating the travel time. Ashley wasn’t concerned. Even if they were stuck for another hour he would still have plenty of time to make the interview.

  “You never did explain why you’re called Stan the Man,” Ashley said, and immediately wished she hadn’t at the wide-eyed look that came from Dash. Clearly, he wanted to get back on the road, and her delaying with a bunch of nonessential questions wasn’t helping.

  In Dash’s mind, he must think they were dealing with someone who belonged in the loony bin. Ashley wasn’t so sure. She saw the loving way Stan the Man ran his hands over the engine, twisting cables and checking this and that, much of which remained a mystery to her.

  “Ah yes. I tend to get sidetracked when I tell people about my alien wife.” He smiled and pulled the rag from his hip pocket and wiped his hands. “She was a looker. Friends gave me the name. They said that for me to seduce an alien I must be some kind of man. I should have corrected them. She seduced me, but I was willing. That woman was hot.”