One Night

by Debbie Macomber

  “Ouch,” he blurted out.

  Unfortunately, Carrie couldn’t make her fingers quit.

  “What’s the matter?” Kyle demanded when she stared up at him, silently pleading for him to read the message in her wide eyes. If he had a lick of sense, he’d figure out something was terribly wrong.

  A full minute later, Carrie decided Kyle hadn’t a clue.

  “You’ve gone pale,” Kyle said. “Are you sick?”

  Enthusiastically she nodded her head as if over-taken by a sudden bout of the chills. Goose bumps ran up and down her arms, but they had nothing to do with the outside temperature.

  “You’re trying to say something?” Kyle coaxed.

  She nodded her head wildly.

  “Something’s wrong?”

  The man was a genius. Once more Carrie nodded with enough enthusiasm for her chin to bounce against her collarbone.

  “Just say it,” Kyle said impatiently.

  “Yes,” the driver of their truck concurred. “Just say it.”

  “He’s not a farmer,” Carrie blurted out breathlessly. “He’s an escaped convict.” Her words came out in squeaks.

  “Oh, come on, Carrie!” Kyle said with an embarrassed laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Billy Bob’s country twang disappeared faster than chocolate eggs at an Easter egg hunt. “How’d you know?” He gave her an approving grin, as if he appreciated her discriminating skills. “Damn. I thought I had the hillbilly part down good.”

  “You mean you’re not a farmer?” Kyle demanded in a shocked, tight voice.

  “Sorry about this, folks, but I promise not to detain you for long.” With one hand on the steering wheel, Billy Bob reached for his boot and withdrew a small handgun. He waved it in the air, being sure they both caught a glimpse of it. Then he proceeded to point the barrel in their direction.

  Carrie gasped and her hands automatically shot into the air.

  “How’d you figure it out?” Billy Bob demanded of Carrie a second time.

  “You’re not tan, and your fingernails are too clean.”

  “Shit, you’re right,” he said, and then, glancing in his rearview mirror, he added, “Double shit. It looks like the law’s about to catch up with me. I thought I had more time on them than this.”

  This gladdened Carrie’s heart until she realized that Billy Bob was likely to use her and Kyle as hostages.

  They were nearing the outskirts of Wheatland, with blue and red patrol lights flashing in the rearview mirror. Carrie twisted around to see how far the authorities were from catching up with them, but it was impossible to gauge. The sirens sounded as if they were almost upon them, but the whirling lights were far behind. If she hadn’t been so frightened, she might have been able to do something to detain Billy Bob. The gun barrel aimed in their general direction was plenty of incentive to do exactly as he said, however.

  Carrie studied the community that they were fast approaching. A huge water tower stood in the distance to the left of town and a handful of grain elevators to the right.

  The truck pitched as Billy Bob took an unexpected turn, heading down the train tracks. Carrie was thrown against Billy Bob’s hard shoulder, and Kyle slammed against her. The truck pitched and heaved as it traveled down the uneven tracks. Carrie felt like a popcorn seed in hot oil. The ride nearly jarred her senseless. Then, mercifully, they stopped.

  “Get out,” Billy Bob ordered, slamming on the brakes. The abrupt action pitched them forward. “Now. Move it, move it, move it.” Billy Bob’s accent was replaced with an authoritative voice that would have struck fear in the heart of a drill sergeant.

  Carrie and Kyle scrambled to do as he demanded. Kyle flew out the side of the truck and Carrie was shoved fiercely after him. She would have hit the pavement head first if not for Kyle, who caught her in his arms.

  Billy Bob didn’t waste any time making sure they weren’t harmed. With the passenger door still open, the truck shot off the train tracks and down a side street to a back alley. Two wheels lifted off the ground as he careened into the alley.

  “He’s got our suitcases,” Carrie shouted, running after him. She didn’t know where she got the strength to do anything so incredibly stupid. It wasn’t as if she had a chance of catching him, or that she’d know what to do if by some wild fluke she did.

  “Carrie,” Kyle said, catching hold of her around the waist. “Let it go. It doesn’t matter.”

  “But he’s got all our clothes.”

  “We’ve got our lives.” Kyle’s few words put everything back into perspective.

  Carrie didn’t know if it was by accident or design, but she found herself wrapped in Kyle’s arms. He was strong and solid and she clung to him. He held her tightly against him as if he were infinitely grateful to have her in his arms. Carrie knew this wasn’t necessarily true, but she didn’t care. In that moment they needed each other. Their differences meant nothing. Their pride was gone, wiped away by a narrow escape with fate and a felon on the run.

  Kyle brushed the hair away from her temples and examined her face, checking to be sure she was unscathed. Perhaps he was studying her to be sure he was holding the same woman who’d irritated him all these months. Neither of them spoke. Together they trembled, two people who recognized how close they’d come to disaster and how fortunate they were to escape.

  Their reprieve, however, didn’t last long. Within another minute they were surrounded by patrol cars. Doors flew open and officers leaped out, using their vehicles as protection and aiming their pistols in Carrie and Kyle’s direction.

  “He went that way,” Carrie cried, pointing out the route of Billy Bob’s escape. No one there seemed to care. At least no one hurried after him, although she was certain one car and possibly two were still in pursuit of Billy Bob.

  “We’re not armed,” Kyle announced authoritatively.

  Two sheriff’s deputies stood and, while the others continued to train their weapons on Carrie and Kyle, instructed the pair to lean against the patrol car and spread-eagle their arms and legs.

  “We’re not criminals,” Carrie said, fighting down her indignation. They were being treated as though they’d done something wrong.

  “They’re clean,” the first officer announced.

  “You can relax,” the second officer said.

  “Who’s the man you’re after?” Kyle asked, the minute he turned around.

  Before the deputy could respond, too plainclothes detectives stepped out of an unmarked car. The older man introduced himself and flashed his badge. “Sam Richards,” he said. “This is Agent Bates.”

  Carrie only got a glimpse, just enough to realize his identification was unlike any other she’d seen. Sam Richards was a member of the Secret Service, although he looked more like a congenial television weatherman than a government agent.

  “Billy Bob must have threatened the President,” Carrie mumbled disappointedly. She was convinced she’d seen him on television, but she couldn’t recall a single episode of Unsolved Mysteries that had profiled someone with his eye on assassination.

  Richards exchanged glances with another one of the law enforcement officers. The agent’s bright blue eyes were what Carrie called catalog eyes. Her sister Cathie referred to them as bedroom eyes, but Carrie was a tad more conservative than her younger sister.

  “We’d like to talk to you both,” Richards announced.

  “Of course,” Kyle said.

  “What for?” Carrie countered, unwilling to be subjected to much more of this. It was going to take more than a smile from Mr. Catalog Eyes to make up for the way they’d been treated thus far.

  “Let’s go on over to the sheriff’s office,” Richards suggested. “Collins won’t mind.”

  The agent had opted to ignore Carrie’s weak protest. He didn’t bother to answer her question either, she noted. Before she could press further, she was placed in the back seat of a patrol car and driven through the center of town.

 
; It seemed Wheatland hadn’t seen such activity since last year’s Fourth of July parade. Curious townsfolk lined both sides of the streets. Mothers hid their babies’ faces, and men glared at them with narrowed, suspicious eyes. The town’s youth were braver; several leaned against the lampposts and stared openly as the four vehicles pulled into the angle parking outside the sheriff’s office.

  Sam Richards held open the door to the office for her, and she stepped inside. It was like walking onto a television set from one of the old Andy Griffith Mayberry RFD shows. Clearly, Carrie had been watching too many reruns. The jail consisted of four cells, which were lined against one wall across from the sheriff’s desk. From what she could see, business was slack. The cells were empty.

  Sheriff Collins’s desk stood behind a waist-high railing. A table and chairs dominated the remaining space. Once the three of them were inside the sheriff’s compact office, they sat around the table and Carrie and Kyle took turns relaying the story of how they’d run into Billy Bob.

  Sheriff Collins returned alone and whispered to the Secret Service agent as if he feared what might happen if Kyle and Carrie overheard him. From the hushed exchange she guessed that once again Billy Bob had slipped through the net of justice.

  “It was all my fault that we left the interstate,” Carrie explained, once everyone had reconvened. “But I thought we’d save ourselves a few miles and take the scenic route.”

  “All we got is wheat fields,” Sheriff Collins threw in, as if he found her explanation weak. He eyed her suspiciously, and Carrie eyed him right back.

  “But they’re pretty wheat fields, and the road’s a whole lot more entertaining than the highway.”

  “That’s when I ran over a rock,” Kyle cut in to explain. “It struck the undercarriage of my car, and the muffler and the exhaust pipe fell off.”

  “Kyle was going to jog into town, but he didn’t.”

  “Why not?” Again it was Sheriff Collins, who looked as if he wanted to throw them in jail now and ask questions later.

  “Before I could leave—”

  “You left,” Carrie corrected him, “then came back, remember?” She felt it was important to get every detail down exactly right the first time, otherwise there could be problems. Jessica Fletcher on Murder, She Wrote had solved entire mysteries on less.

  “Why’d you return?” Richards asked, smiling encouragingly, as if they were all good friends.

  Carrie wasn’t fooled, but she wasn’t so sure about Kyle. “Kyle wasn’t gone more than ten minutes.”

  “Why’d he come back?” The room went still as if anticipating a confession, although she still hadn’t a clue as to what Billy Bob was said to have done.

  “Carrie was worried about being left alone,” Kyle explained. She hadn’t looked at him in several minutes and feared he wasn’t overly pleased with her dragging in every detail of their story.

  “He decided it would be better if we walked into town together,” Carrie supplied. “But before we started, Billy Bob stopped and offered us a ride.”

  “His name’s Max Sanders.”

  “Max Sanders,” Carrie repeated slowly, testing the name on her lips. It didn’t sound familiar.

  “What’s he done?” Kyle asked.

  “That’s not important just now.”

  “It is if you plan to detain us,” Kyle continued smoothly, boldly confronting the Secret Service agent.

  “Right,” Carrie said, quickly siding with Kyle. “We’re law-abiding citizens. We know our rights. It might be a good idea if we contact an attorney. What do you think, Kyle?”

  “So you’ve had plenty of experience in dealing with the law, have you?” Sam Richards twisted a hardback chair around and straddled it.

  “A little,” she said defiantly, wondering just how far L.A. Law episodes would take her. “I interviewed a police officer once. He was selling tickets to the annual charity ball.”

  “We’re employed by KUTE radio in Kansas City,” Kyle explained. “If you check our identification, you’ll see we’re telling the truth.”

  “What’s Max Sanders done to warrant your attention?” Carrie asked again, eager for as many details as she could collect.

  “Counterfeiting.”

  “You mean he’s passing fake money?”

  “You got it. I don’t suppose you’d mind showing us any money you’re carrying.”

  “No problem,” Kyle said, reaching in his hip pocket for his wallet. He opened it and handed over several bills for their inspection.

  Apparently Kyle’s money was good because they returned it after only a brief inspection. Because Kyle had been so willing to have his cash inspected, Carrie didn’t have any choice but to allow the police the same privilege with her.

  “How much cash did you bring?” Kyle demanded when she handed over a small wad of bills.

  “Enough,” she said, disliking his tone, “but my traveler’s checks are in my suitcases.”

  Kyle briefly closed his eyes. “Mine too.”

  So it was more than just their clothes Max had absconded with; he had their money as well.

  “Can we go now?” Carrie asked, growing discouraged with the entire process. They’d cooperated to the best of their ability, but she was exhausted. They needed to decide what they were going to do without a car, money, or clothes.

  “We can’t allow you to leave just yet,” Richards said apologetically.

  “Why not?”

  “We have a few questions left. It’d help us a great deal if you’d answer them.”

  Carrie exchanged looks with Kyle, who seemed perfectly content. From experience she knew his calm outward appearance was often deceptive. Kyle could be brimming with animosity, but he’d never allow it to show. Especially now, when any display of negative emotion was grounds for real trouble.

  “We’re having a slight problem believing your story,” Richards said cautiously.

  “I knew they were lying the minute I set eyes on them,” Sheriff Collins threw in excitedly. He was the type of law enforcement officer who needed nothing more than a fast patrol car and his rifle to fix whatever was wrong with the world. Carrie bet people called him Smokey behind his back.

  “You don’t believe us?” Carrie asked and jumped to her feet. Kyle could remain as calm and cool as he wanted, but she’d had it! She was tired and cranky. She’d been kidnapped, chased, threatened with a gun, and treated like a convicted felon. It wouldn’t take much more to send her straight over the edge.

  “We can’t understand why a man who’s on the run would stop to help complete strangers,” Agent Bates explained. “Especially knowing the authorities are no more than ten minutes behind him.”

  “Perhaps Sanders didn’t know that,” Kyle offered.

  “He knew.” The “congenial weatherman” wasn’t nearly as affable now. “It doesn’t make sense that he’d choose to play the Good Samaritan when he’s got nothing to gain and everything to lose.”

  “He’s got the counterfeiting plates with him?” Kyle asked thoughtfully.

  “You got it,” Richards confirmed.

  “He’s got more than the plates,” Carrie said heatedly. “He’s got our luggage and our money.” She still hadn’t figured out what she was going to wear once they arrived in Dallas. If they made it that far. Their first day had shown precious little promise.

  “Exactly what was it you had in those suitcases?”

  “My party dress,” Carrie said. It would be impossible to replace the red-sequined evening gown she cherished. She’d found it shortly after Christmas at a drastically reduced clearance sale and instantly fallen in love with it. She hadn’t a clue when she’d have the opportunity to wear such an elaborate gown, but she couldn’t resist.

  The dress fit over her hips like a sleek glove. The scooped neckline highlighted her greatest asset, and the slits that ran up the sides reached halfway up her thighs. The best part was knowing Kyle would heartily disapprove of her wearing such a revealing gown. Her fa
ther would have, and she could trust her co-worker’s reaction to be similar.

  “I’m asking what Mr. Harris packed,” Sam Richards explained. “It’s more likely Sanders will opt for a change of clothing from your friend’s suitcase than from yours.”

  Carrie could feel the heat inching its way up her face. “Of course. It’s just that…” She let the rest fade and made an effort to smile as if she’d been in on the joke from the first.

  “What do you think?” Richards asked Sheriff Collins.

  The local law enforcement officer shrugged. “He has a hell of a lot more to worry about than a change of clothes. We were hot on his tail, and he knew it. What would make a man like that stop to help two strangers?”

  The question was directed at Carrie and Kyle.

  “You think I have the answer to that?” Kyle asked, finally showing his irritation. Carrie nearly cheered. As it was she tossed him a brilliant smile, letting him know she heartily approved.

  “It seems to me you guys aren’t thinking clearly,” she said. “It’s really rather simple when you reason it out. Max Sanders may have realized you were close behind him, but he also knew you were looking for one man. By stopping and volunteering to drive us into town, he hoped to throw you off. You’d probably have driven directly past a truck carrying three people. Or he might have wanted to use us as hostages. Who knows?”

  The room went silent.

  “I don’t buy it,” Richards said. The sheriff and his two deputies were whispering in the background, casting distrustful looks at Kyle and Carrie.

  Bates rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “I don’t know. There’s more to this than meets the eye.”

  “Their story about the broken-down car checks out,” the sheriff announced. He braced his hands against his hips and rocked onto the heels of his polished black boots. “There’s a BMW pulled off to the side of the road just where they claimed there was.”

  “Just because their car’s broken down outside of town doesn’t mean they’re who they say they are,” Sheriff Collins said as if he didn’t expect them to hear.