by Diana Duncan
It took two tries before she could speak. “Even cops scour trash for evidence. In the case of the State of North Dakota versus Herrick in 1997, the court ruled that ‘once something is discarded, it no longer affords the previous owner any expectations of privacy.’”
“Evidence?” Suspicion stamped his chiseled features. He crossed his arms over his wide chest. “Whose garbage is this?”
Rats! Distracted by dancing hormones, she’d slipped. “Haven’t you been listening? Garbage doesn’t belong to anyone.”
He advanced on her. “Zoe…” Her name was a growled warning.
She backpedaled to the farthest corner, under the lidded half of the container. “On second thought, you probably have better things to do—”
Without warning, a loud rumble shook the ground beneath her feet. Then the Dumpster’s lid slammed down, trapping them in darkness.
Chapter 5
3:00 p.m.
Zoe shrieked. Outside, an ear-splitting grinding noise was followed by shrill beeping. Panic screamed along her nerve endings, and a surge of adrenaline spiked her pulse. The Dumpster tilted, and she was thrown into Aidan.
He lost his footing and lurched backward into the wall. His arms closed around her, held her against him. “Hang on!”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. Stuck to him like Velcro, she flung her arms around his neck. “It’s dark!”
The Dumpster rose, an out-of-control express elevator. “That’s the least of our problems.” His muscles tensed as he braced, struggling to keep them upright.
“I hate the dark! Get me out of here!”
His arms embraced her, strong and reassuring. “Okay, don’t panic.”
Shaking, she clung to him, her anchor in the dark, whirling chaos and buried her face in his neck. “Too late!”
“Zoe,” his deep, velvet voice brushed her ear. “I’ve got you. You’re all right.”
His unique scent—warm essence of man—penetrated her fear. The strength of his powerful, solid body pressed to hers calmed her. She wasn’t alone. Aidan wouldn’t let anything bad reach out of the darkness and snatch her away. The Dumpster rocked wildly, and she clutched him tighter. “What’s happening?”
“We won’t be in the dark for long. The beeping, chugging monster outside is the garbage truck.”
“Oh, no!”
“This could only happen to you, Brenda Starr.” He shook his head. “This is the first time I’ve ever been recycled.”
The Dumpster jerked to a halt and began to tip. The contents slid, banging into them. Aidan shielded her between his body and the metal wall. “Keep your head down.”
“Aidan, you’ll get hurt.”
“At least trash doesn’t return fire.” He grunted as the file cabinet slammed into his back. “Maybe.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s no rougher than playing football with my brothers.”
The Dumpster angled downward, and his weight combined with an avalanche of trash squashed her. “I can’t breathe.”
Rock-hard biceps bunched as he levered up, affording her an inch of space. “Better?”
“Y—” The Dumpster tipped, the lid swung open and they were freefalling.
She landed flat on her back on lumpy plastic bags. Seconds later, Aidan crashed on top of her, face down. He flung his arms over his head and covered her, taking the brunt of the blows as the Dumpster’s contents bombarded them.
More grinding. A thunk echoed as the metal container hit the pavement. The beeping stopped, the truck’s gears screeched, and then the vehicle chugged into motion.
She’d always loved thrill rides, but this was nuts. She lay buried in debris, sheltered by Aidan’s big body. Her nose pressed into the soft cotton covering his broad chest, which rose and fell rapidly as he struggled to breathe.
She writhed up the length of his body until her face was free and she could see the truck’s interior. Open panels in the roof gave her a mercifully clear view of cerulean summer sky passing overhead. A not-so-daisy-fresh smell permeated the cramped space, but the breeze helped. Aidan’s face rested in her shoulder, and his breathing evened out. For some crazy reason, his heavy weight on top of her felt reassuring. “Are you hurt?”
He lifted his head and held her gaze. “No. You?”
His full, sensual lips were inches from hers. His warm breath feathered over her mouth. Long lashes as thick and intricate as black lace surrounded enigmatic eyes alive with warm highlights. She could plunge into those golden-shimmered pools and live forever.
“Zoe.” Large, steady hands cradled her face. “Are you okay?”
She surfaced slowly from the glowing brown depths. Blinked. Falling into the truck was nothing compared to the fall into his eyes. She drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Yes, but…ouch.” She squirmed. “Your gun is killing my ribs.”
“Sorry.” Propped on his elbows, he raised his upper body a few inches.
“And your flashlight is riding my hipbone. I think it’s very glad to see me.” She slid her hand between them. “It’s one of those big Everreadys, huh?”
He jumped. “The flashlight got knocked out of my pocket on the way down.”
“Oh!” Face flaming, she jerked her hand away so fast, the movement nearly gave her whiplash. Was it possible to spontaneously combust from embarrassment? Nevertheless, happiness curled through her. She turned him on. A lot. A whole lot. Or maybe being snuggled up this close and personal with any woman would turn him on. She wished she had the nerve to ask. “Accidental contact. Ten minutes in the penalty box?”
His unexpected laughter sent tingles spiraling up her spine. He didn’t seem embarrassed. Maybe women groped him every day. Considering his rampant good looks, the idea wasn’t terribly farfetched. “That one’s gotta cost you at least twenty minutes, Zagretti.”
The grumbling and grinding started again, and the trash bags beneath them heaved. She stared at Aidan. “What now?”
“Compactor.” He shoved himself off her, scattering debris, then reached down and helped her up. “Stay on top.”
Clutching hands, stumbling in place, they scrambled up the roiling mountain beneath their feet. Stairmaster as envisioned by the Marquis de Sade. Fighting mass and momentum, Zoe floundered as the riptide tried to force her backward and suck her under. If she slipped, she’d be crushed. She clung to Aidan’s hand. “Don’t let go of me.”
Fierce determination glinted in his gaze. His hand gripped hers, and resolve hummed in every straining muscle. “Never.”
He wouldn’t. Not even if he went under with her. Reassuring thought. She gasped for breath. “‘Two local residents compacted.’ There’s a unique story, if I’m around to report it.”
He wasn’t even breathing hard. He probably jogged. Not to mention he was almost a foot taller, most of it legs. “Hang in there. It can’t last much longer.”
Sure enough, without warning, the awful noise stopped. The contents lurched and settled, and she stumbled into him. Once again, he caught her. Panting, she looked up at him. “Does this remind you of anything?”
“Yeah.” His white, wicked grin flashed. “The fitness center from hell.”
His crack mirrored her own thoughts so closely, she chuckled. “Remember the rescue scene in the original Star Wars?” She paused to breathe. “Luke, Leia, Han and Chewie were in the trash masher, and C3PO thought they were dying.”
“‘A little short for a Storm Trooper, aren’t you?’” he quoted. “Unfortunately, this isn’t the movies.” His grin faded. “Look what your mule-headedness got us into.”
She grimaced. It couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t just walk away from the CPUs and shredded files. “Well, if I’m stuck in refuse, at least I’m glad it’s with a capable guy like you. Otherwise, I would have been crushed.”
“A guy worth the garbage.” He eased back, but kept his hands around her waist, balancing her as the truck rumbled unsteadily along. Chivalry at its best. “Maybe I can use that as a toast at Con�
�s wedding tonight.” His dark brows slammed together. “Aw, hell!”
“What?”
“I was on my way to pick up my tux when dispatch called about the wacko in the Dumpster. I was a block away. I figured it would take five minutes, and save sending out a patrol car.”
“You have a police radio in your car, and listen to it off duty? I’ll take workaholic for five hundred, Alex.”
“I like to know what’s going down in my precinct.” He released her and glanced at his watch. “The shop closes at five today. I’ll never make it in time.”
Mourning the loss of his touch, she clutched a protruding metal bar on the lurching vehicle’s side. “Nothing like waiting till the last minute to pick up your tux.”
He shot her a sardonic glance. “Yeah, too bad an inconvenient hostage crisis mucked up my schedule.”
“Okay, point to you. I suppose you can blame me.”
“No, I put the blame directly where it belongs. On myself.”
What did that cryptic remark mean? “Do you have a cell phone? Can you call dispatch and have them send a patrol car to rescue us?”
“The guys would razz my ass off.” He groaned. “I can see it now. Toy garbage trucks parked on my desk. Dozens of trash bags stuffed in my locker. Specially brewed L’eau de Trash cologne for Christmas. No way. I’d rather perform my best-man duties wearing pink tights and a tutu.”
“You definitely have the legs for it, but purple is a better color for you.” He snorted, and she sent him a teasing grin. “All righty then. How about one of your brothers?”
“Same results, worse razzing. Till the day I died.” He shuddered. “Mom might be able to do it, though.”
He tugged a cell phone out of his jacket pocket, propped a hand on the wall for balance, and hit a button. Zoe smiled. Extra points for a man who had his mother on speed dial.
“Mom, it’s Aidan.” He had to nearly shout over the truck’s grumbling progress. “I’m a little tied up. Could you do me a favor and get my tux?” He paused to listen. “I know I should have picked it up sooner, but I worked double shifts all week.” Another pause. “No, ma’am, I am not on a SWAT call-out four hours before my brother’s wedding. The noise? Uh…I’m helping a…friend…relocate.” He grimaced. “Yes, it’s a woman.” He looked at Zoe, his eyes widening in near panic. “Uh-uh.” He shook his head vehemently. “No, ma’am. Gotta go. See you later.”
Zoe waited until he pocketed the phone. “What did she want?”
For the first time since they’d met, he evaded her gaze. “Nothing.”
Hmm. Interesting. Curiosity burned inside her. She’d have sacrificed the rent money to know what his mom had asked that had him so flustered. “We should try to attract the driver’s attention.”
“You happen to have an air horn on you?”
“Not today. No harm in trying, though.”
He shrugged. “Nope.”
Together, they banged on the truck and shouted.
Aidan shook his head, “This is insane. He’ll never hear us over the racket.”
“I don’t suppose we could shoot our way out?” She was only half-kidding.
“Sure…if the ricochet didn’t kill us. We’ll wait till he stops, and then get his attention.”
Good plan. Too bad the truck didn’t stop again.
She stayed in one spot until she picked up the trick to balancing on the bulky mass, and then rummaged for her canvas bag. With most of the trash contained, nothing was too messy. Thank heaven for small favors. “Finally! My survival kit.”
Aidan leaned against the wall, his swaying body easily accommodating the truck’s jerky movements. “What kind of survival kit?”
Rats! A huge rip in the seam clear through the vinyl lining revealed the hard drive hidden inside. She rotated the bag, turning the tear away from him. “Among other things, Cracker Jack, water bottle, ibuprofen, pen, pad, penlight, makeup, safety pins and a romance novel. All the necessities.”
“If you’re marooned at a pajama party.”
The second CPU wasn’t far away. The impact had cracked it open. Turning her back on Aidan, she used her body to hide her movements as she unscrewed and removed the hard drive and crammed it in her bag beside the other one. Safety pins from her stash fastened the ripped edges together. The hard drives were still visible if you looked closely. She’d have to keep him from looking too closely. She zipped the top. “What’s in your survival kit?”
“Butane lighter, flares, flashlight, Swiss Army knife, ammo, first aid supplies, water and dehydrated food packets.”
“What about a needle and thread to sew up your own wounds, Rambo?”
He chuckled, the husky timbre sending delicious shivers over her. “Mine will keep you alive longer than lipstick and love novels.”
“Depends on where you’re stranded. And who you’re stranded with.” Her survival kit might now include new, major pieces to the DiMarco puzzle. That topped dehydrated stroganoff any day.
She stepped to one side and spotted his flashlight at her feet. “Here’s your flashlight.” She couldn’t stop the flush that crept up her neck when she passed it to him.
His gorgeous features projected studied innocence. “You seem to be fond of my Everready.”
She glanced down. Her fingers were still involuntarily clenched around the thick handle. She let go as if it had burned her. “There’s a crack in the end.” Her blush flared hotter.
He flicked the switch, and light gleamed. He flicked it off and nonchalantly jammed the handle in his jeans pocket. “The old Everready can take quite a beating and still perform.”
Hoo boy, was it hot in here? “Gives the phrase ‘you light up my life’ a whole new meaning.”
“You have quite a way with words, Zagretti.”
“That’s why I’m a journ—” The truck angled around a sharp corner, knocking her down. It bumped and rocked over uneven ground before jerking to a stop. The beeping and grinding commenced and the back of the floor began to rise. “Now what?”
Aidan dove at her and scooped her into his embrace. “We’re about to get dumped. Hang on.”
She struggled to hook the canvas bag over one arm and accidentally banged him in the ribs.
“Ouch. Must be a buttload of makeup in there. You plan on being stranded with Tammy Faye Baker?”
“Sorry.” How would he react if he knew he’d just been clobbered with possible evidence that might put his father’s killer in jail? She clung to him as her feet were swept out from beneath her, and the world slid away.
The back flap banged open. Surrounded by a sea of trash bags, they tumbled out the rear of the truck, and landed on a pile of refuse. He protected her from the trash raining on top of them. In seconds, they were buried.
They dug out just in time to see the truck chugging off in the distance.
Zoe stood, splotched with gunk she didn’t dare identify. She looked at Aidan and then at the mountains of debris. Flies droned, circling in the bright sunshine like jumbo jets stacked up over LAX. “You can’t say I never take you anywhere.”
Aidan chuckled again, warming her heart. “You sure know how to show a guy a good time.”
She unzipped her bag, fished out a package of sanitizing hand wipes and handed him half. “Dis my survival kit now, SWAT.”
He scrubbed his face. “Okay, point to you.”
Zoe cleaned her face and tossed the wipes. She turned back to paw through the rubble.
“Looking for our dignity? Too late. It’s trashed.”
She laughed. His intelligence and wry wit were the biggest turn-ons of all. “I saw some shredded paper, and I want it.”
“What for?”
“It makes terrific plant mulch.” One hundred percent true. She simply didn’t specify that she wasn’t in the market for mulch.
“Right.” He glanced at his watch. “Three minutes. Then we’re leaving, with or without it.” He crossed his arms and waited. Not helping, but not hindering, either.
> “After all this, I am not walking away empty-handed.” Okay, she had the hard drives, but he was on a need-to-know basis regarding those. And she couldn’t think of an urgent reason to tell him. Determined to ignore the smell, she pawed at the pile.
“This place probably has hot- and cold-running rats.”
“Ack!” She jumped back, and her nervous glance skittered over the rubble. Nothing moved except the horrified goose bumps crawling over her skin. She turned and glared at him. “You’re trying to scare me into quitting.”
“Would I do that?” He shrugged, an innocent picture of male solicitousness. “Just looking out for you.” He consulted his watch. “Two minutes.”
“I spot a rat, all right,” she muttered, resuming her search. “Six foot one, with dark wavy hair and a tendency to spout ultimatums.”
Seconds before time ran out, she hit pay dirt. Make that pay garbage. She cleaned her grimy fingers, slung her survival kit over one shoulder and grabbed the bag of shredded documents.
He sighed and took it from her. “Let’s move.” His long strides ate up the ground, and she had to hustle to keep up. “We have a long walk ahead, and if I’m late for the wedding, Mom will kick my ass.”
She hadn’t met Maureen O’Rourke yet, but liked her already. Any woman who could inspire fear in a man who unflinchingly faced knife-wielding lunatics was top-notch in her book. “I had to bus it until I saved up to register and license my car in this state. The twenty-two bus line comes out this way. All we have to do is find a stop.” She patted her survival kit. “I carry several tickets, in case my car breaks down.”
“Resourceful, aren’t you?”
“Eagle Scouts aren’t the only ones who can be prepared.”
He indicated his stained, rumpled clothing. “Even with tickets, I doubt they’ll let us on the bus looking like a couple of winos after a hard day’s night.”
