Assignment: Marriage

by Jackie Merritt

  “We’ll be there before tomorrow night,” Tuck answered.

  “Meaning you’re planning to drive straight through. Great,” Nicole said disgustedly. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do for twenty-four hours than ride, ride, ride.”

  Tuck sent her a cold glance. “You probably have a right to gripe, but I don’t want to hear it. Complaining isn’t going to do one damn bit of good. And it won’t take twenty-four hours. Something under twenty is more like it.”

  Nicole sat up straighter and gave this unsympathetic, incompassionate jerk a really good look. At the house she’d been so harried and confused she had barely acknowledged their introduction and only vaguely registered his appearance. Staring hard in the faint light from the dash dials, she saw a profile that looked cut from granite, with just about the same amount of warmth.

  She’d had her fill of officious, overbearing behavior. From the moment she had made that call to Detective Harper about what she’d seen the night of the Buckley murders, someone had been breathing down her neck, telling her what she could and couldn’t do, mercilessly replanning her life—frightening her away from windows, for God’s sake—praising her courage one minute and in the next acting as though she hadn’t a brain in her head or wouldn’t know how to use it if she did.

  “If you don’t like complaining, you’re the wrong man for this job,” she said with all of the anger she’d been feeling for days now, anger that she had repressed with great effort. “I will complain about anything and everything that rubs me wrong, Tom King, or whatever your name is, and I don’t particularly give a damn how you take it. I’m not here because I want to be and…”

  “And you think I am?” Tuck shouted suddenly. “Well, think again!”

  They fell silent, each of them startled by how quickly and fiercely their anger had flared. But though Nicole became slightly calmer, defiance was running through her veins, hot and heavy.

  “If you didn’t want this job, why did you take it?” she questioned acidly. “Or was it forced on you?”

  Tuck smirked. “There’s all kinds of force, lady. All kinds.”

  “And I’m sure you know them all,” Nicole drawled with exaggerated sarcasm.

  “Because I’m a cop?” Tuck laughed humorlessly. “I’m surprised a solid citizen like yourself would make disparaging remarks about cops.”

  “I was speaking of only one cop, Mr. King. And while we’re being so nice and friendly with each other, let’s stop one portion of this ridiculous charade. My name is Nicole Currie, and I will not answer to Cheryl.”

  Tuck muttered a curse. “I’ve got a damned good notion to turn this car around and drop you off on Joe Crawford’s doorstep.”

  Nicole’s chin came up. “Why don’t you do that, Officer King? I’m sure Captain Crawford would welcome us both.” Her voice became less strident. “Tell me your real name. I can’t stand this cloak-and-dagger idiocy. For this thing to work, we’re going to have to trust each other. I’ve trusted you with my real name, and I would appreciate the same courtesy from you.”

  Tuck drove on, saying nothing for a long time. Nicole finally turned away with a long-suffering sigh. “This is going to be a miserable experience, and I pray to God our association is extremely short-lived,” she said wearily.

  Several miles went by. “It’s Tuck,” he said low and tensely. “Tuck Hannigan. In front of anyone else, we’re Cheryl and Tom King, understand?”

  Nicole’s head slowly came around. “Understood, and thank you. Do you know that because of that small piece of information I have more confidence in you?”

  He was waiting for his name to sink in. If she’d read the papers or watched the evening news on television six weeks back, she had to have heard it. As for her having more confidence in him, he couldn’t care less. The one thing that wasn’t going to happen during this job was the two of them getting chummy. He had enough problems of his own to sort through without adding the complication of a personal relationship. He’d just as soon keep this whole thing as impersonal as possible.

  However, there was one aspect of this fiasco that needed discussion. He spoke tonelessly. “We’re going to be posing as Tom and Cheryl King. What we have to decide is how we happen to have the same last name.” Nicole turned her head to watch him. “There are several options. I’m sure you can figure out what they are.”

  Nicole cleared her throat. “Uh, how about brother and sister?”

  “That might work. So could pretending to be cousins. But if we’re both supposedly single people, we might draw some unwanted attention.”

  “You mean, like a woman getting interested in you.”

  “Or a man thinking he’d like to know you better. We’re going to avoid people as much as possible, but my professional opinion is that we would be less noticeable as a married couple.”

  Nicole started chewing on her poor thumbnail again. Posing as this man’s wife would entail what? “Um…how far would we have to go to prove our marital status?” she asked uneasily.

  He sent her a disgusted look. “We won’t be sharing the same bed, if that’s what you’re thinking, so relax. This is strictly a job to me, strictly business.” He drew a breath and retracted some of his anger. “Look, in front of other people we’ll have to act as though we know and like each other. That’s as far as it’ll ever have to go. Understand?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly, though her nervous system was anything but calm. She leaned her head against the cool window of the door. God, how had she gotten herself into this unholy mess? She had never, ever had anything to do with police officers and the law; there’d never been any reason. She’d never even been to court for a traffic ticket, and now she was going to have to appear as a witness in what would probably be a sensational murder trial. Her own life was in danger, just for being a good citizen.

  Tears stung her eyes and nose, and she lifted her head away from the window to go into her purse for some tissues.

  Tuck caught on that she was crying and trying to keep it quiet. Keeping his eyes on the road, he pretended not to notice. Still, he felt some sympathy for Nicole Currie. The population seemed to be divided, one portion committing the crimes, the other attempting to lead a good and decent life. When those two segments overlapped in any way, there was always trouble. Nicole hadn’t asked for trouble; she had merely stumbled into it. But if the decent side of society never got involved, the crime rate would rise at an even more rapid rate than it was doing in every city and town across the country. The police needed people like her, folks who called in to report odd or unusual occurrences. Many a criminal had been brought down because of a simple telephone call from a conscientious citizen.

  Of course, few were asked to give up weeks of their life as Nicole was doing. Yeah, he felt sorry for her, but what good would saying so do? She had her self-pity, he had his..

  His mouth thinned. Was that what was causing the constant ache in his gut, self-pity? Was self-pity the same as regret? Remorse? And why should he feel any remorse? He had undoubtedly saved the life of that convenience store clerk.

  Tense again, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Nicole gave him a look. “Must you smoke?”

  His answer was to roll down his window about six inches.

  She turned her head in disgust. Tuck Hannigan might be a good cop, but he was not a nice guy. Pity his wife or girlfriend, she thought. If he had one.

  For some reason his name began tweaking her memory. Tuck Hannigan…Tuck Hannigan. She’d heard it before, but how? Where?

  And then it came to her. Sergeant Tucker Hannigan had been in the news for killing two men in a convenience store holdup! She sent him a furtive glance, wondering how he felt about that, wondering, too, if he did have a wife and maybe kids. When he wasn’t on duty, was he a nicer person? Did he laugh and converse and do ordinary things for fun?

  It was hard to imagine him smiling and relaxed. He was the most rigidly controlled person she’d ever met. He’d said this was just a
nother job to him, so how did he view her? Probably as a nuisance, she thought resentfully. Certainly he wasn’t treating her as a living, breathing woman with a personality and a brain.

  To hell with him. Feeling around for levers down at the right of her seat, she was relieved to find one that released the seat back. It fell back suddenly, causing Tuck’s head to jerk around. “What’re you doing?”

  “Getting comfortable,” she retorted, lying back and closing her eyes. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since the onset of this fiasco, and every cell in her body ached with exhaustion. She was asleep in seconds.

  Tuck drove through the black night thinking and smoking. Sometimes he only smoked and watched the road. Catching sight of a pair of headlights in the rearview mirror, he slowed down. The vehicle was moving fast, and it soon caught up with him and then passed him doing at least eighty. It was a white sports car and he jotted down the license plate number when it was visible in his own headlights.

  The road was monotonous. He passed through the towns of Beatty, Scotty’s Junction and Goldfield, and finally approached Tonopah, which was a good two hundred miles out of Vegas. Needing gas, he pulled into a brightly lighted truck stop.

  Nicole sat up. “Where are we?”

  “Tonopah. I’m getting gas. If you need to use the facilities, do it now.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Around two.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  Tuck looked around. There were half a dozen eighteenwheelers parked with their motors idling, two more at the diesel pumps, and a smattering of cars and pickups parked near the restaurant. No sign of the white sports car.

  “Get something to go,” he said brusquely. “Do you have money?”

  “Yes. Would you like something to eat?”

  “Coffee will do. Black, no sugar. Make it a large. And don’t waste time.”

  They got out and went inside, Tuck to the gas attendant to pay in advance for the gas, and Nicole to the ladies’ room. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt depressed. Tired, dejected eyes looked back at her.

  Dampening a paper towel-with cold water, she held it to her eyes for a few minutes. Then, remembering Tuck’s domineering “don’t waste time,” she used the commode, washed her hands and hurried to the restaurant. Sitting at the counter, she put in her order with a weary-looking waitress.

  Tuck had the car gassed and the motor idling when she came out with two bags. He drove away the second she was in the car, irritating her, though she said nothing about it and dug into the sacks.

  “Here’s your coffee.” She held out a large foam cup. “I also bought an extra hamburger, in case you might want one.”

  “Maybe I’ll eat it later. Just leave it on the seat.”

  No “Thanks.” No sign of gratitude for her thoughtfulness. Nicole’s mouth tightened. “You’re welcome, Officer Hannigan,” she said with piercing sarcasm.

  He shot her a dark look. “I only asked for coffee. But if it’s so important to you, thank you very much.”

  He’d spoken sarcastically, too. Nicole had to forcibly stop herself from continuing the impolite conversation, which could only get worse. They should at least try to get along.

  Unwrapping her hamburger, she took a bite and found it to be exceptionally good. So was the coffee.

  The sedan sped through the night on the dark and lonely road.

  “John Harper said we would be staying in Coeur d’Alene.” Nicole said, breaking the silence in the car.

  “Not in Coeur d’Alene. Near Coeur d’Alene.” Tuck took a swallow of his coffee.

  “Near? What does that mean?”

  “We’ll be staying in a cabin on the lake. Coeur d’Alene Lake.”

  “Oh, there’s a lake.”

  “A very beautiful lake. Northern Idaho has a lot of beautiful lakes. The whole area is beautiful.”

  “Then you’ve been there before?”

  “Once…a few years back.”

  Nicole finished her hamburger and wadded up the wrapping. “Who owns the cabin?”

  “A close friend of a high-ranking police officer. A friend of my captain, as a matter of fact. The guy who talked me into taking this job.”

  His cynical tone raised Nicole’s hackles. “Sorry to be such a burden, but this certainly wasn’t my idea,” she snapped.

  No, it wasn’t her idea, and Tuck felt another spurt of sympathy, which he again kept to himself. Nicole Currie might deserve sympathy, but she didn’t need to hear it from him. Before this was over she’d either be a lot tougher than she was now, or she would crumble. He hoped it would be the first.

  At Tonopah, Tuck had decided to cut east across Nevada and join up with Highway 93, thereby avoiding the traffic around the Reno and Carson City area. He said nothing to Nicole about it, because he could tell that while she stared almost constantly at the road, it wasn’t because she was interested in or even aware of her surroundings. Her worried thoughts were directed toward herself, which he probably understood better than most people would have. It was almost as though they had something in common, which wasn’t true when their troubling recent experiences were so diverse. But they both had problems to deal with, and that did seem to give them a little common ground.

  The term “common ground” gave Tuck pause. He glanced at his passenger. “We should probably get some sort of story put together for our background.” Absently then, keeping one eye on the road, he reached for the hamburger on the seat.

  Nicole turned slightly to see him. “Such as?”

  “Where we’re from, where we met, do we have any family, that sort of thing.”

  “Oh. Do you think people will ask?”

  “Not if I can help it, but it wouldn’t do for you to answer a question about our common past one way and me answer it another. We really are going to try to avoid people, but we should be prepared, just in case.”

  “Fine,” she said listlessly. “Tell me what to say. Frankly, my own imagination isn’t functioning on high at the present.”

  “Well…let’s make us both orphans. Parents dead, each of us being an only child. Um, let’s say we met back east, got married, lived in Nevada for a while and decided to try Idaho. That would explain the Nevada plates on this car.”

  “Where back east?”

  “Ever been in the east?”

  “Only between flights when I vacationed in Europe. But I’ve been in Texas, the Abilene area.”

  “That’ll work. I’ve been there, too. Forget the east, and tell people, if they’re nosy enough to ask, that we met in Abilene.”

  After passing through the small town of Warm Springs, there was a long stretch of vacant road through Railroad Valley. Tuck hadn’t seen a car in a good half hour when his own began acting up.

  Nicole noticed the sputtering of the engine. “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe the fuel line.” Scowling, Tuck pumped on the accelerator and the engine evened out. A breakdown out here wouldn’t be funny. The next town of any size was Ely, still more than a hundred miles away. He might come upon a service station before Ely, but on this road in the middle of the night there wasn’t much chance of a mechanic hanging around hoping for a customer.

  Every few minutes the engine sputtered and coughed again. Nicole had started listening for it and Tuck was getting a little more tense each time it happened.

  “What if it stops running out here?” Nicole said worriedly. There wasn’t another car in sight, not even a distant light signifying human habitation.

  Tuck’s jaw was clenched. “Just pray it doesn’t,” he muttered. He had the feeling the damned engine was going to die any second, and he wished he had stayed on Highway 95, which had more towns and traffic than this road.

  Then he squinted at the lights he saw ahead. “There’s something coming up,” he said. Since there wasn’t a town marked on his map, he figured it might be a ranch. To his surprise, it was a gas station and a small motel. The gas station was closed for the
night, and he supposed so was the motel. But they each bore lights on tall poles, the name of the motel spelled out in neon.

  He pulled the bucking car into the parking area of the buildings. Nicole frowned at the dark and silent service station. “I don’t think you’re going to get any help at this place.”

  “Not till morning,” Tuck said. “Wait here.” Getting out, leaving the engine idling—wheezingly—he stalked to the door of the motel office.

  In the car Nicole sighed and laid her head back against the seat. Things just kept getting worse. Not more than a week ago she was a reasonably happy woman with a challenging job, some good friends, and a home she liked and enjoyed. Now here she was in the middle of nowhere, in a pitch-black night, running from killers, with a man she neither knew nor liked, and with a broken-down car in the bargain.

  Tuck read the small sign above a button. Ring Buzzer For Late Night Service. He looked around. The motel had about seven units and there were only three cars parked in front of three doors. He pushed on the button.

  Almost at once he heard movement from inside. The office lights flashed on, then a sleepy-eyed, middle-aged man in an undershirt and a pair of dark pants with suspenders opened the door.

  “I need a room,” Tuck said flatly.

  “Come in.” The man left the door hanging open and walked around a counter. He shoved a card and a pen at Tuck. “Fill it out.”

  Tuck picked up the pen. “Do you have a room with two beds?”

  “The only room I have left has one bed. But it’s queen-size.”

  “Okay.” Tuck filled in the blanks and laid down the pen.

  The man handed him a key. “Room number six. That’ll be forty dollars.”

  “Forty?” Seemed pretty high for a squalid little motel like this.

  “Forty,” the man confirmed.

  Tuck dug out two twenties and handed them over. “What time does the gas station open in the morning?”

  “Around eight.”

  “Do they have a mechanic?”

  “Not regular. But they got a guy on call.”