Dangerous Curves

by Kristina Wright

  He wondered what Charlie would have made of her. He thought about his partner with a mixture of fondness and grief that never seemed to fade completely. Charlie had been a world-class cop and a hell of a friend. And Jake had let him down. Bad enough to let a friend down, but his mistake had cost Charlie his life.

  “Woof!”

  Distracted from the path his thoughts were taking, Jake gave Fletcher a halfhearted grin. “I promise I won’t forget you, buddy.”

  He threw Fletcher’s spare water bowl into the box, along with a flashlight, a roll of duct tape and a portable radio/tape recorder. He felt like he was preparing for a hurricane, and his paranoia bothered him. “Better safe than sorry,” Charlie had always said. And look what it had gotten him.

  Margo used to accuse him of being paranoid. She hadn’t understood that it came with the territory A cop couldn’t afford to trust anyone. But she’d resented his job, resented his partnership with Charlie. She was an uptown girl and he’d convinced himself that he could make her happy because he’d loved her. He bit back a bitter laugh. Hell, he missed his job more than he missed his marriage. What did that say about him?

  Jake didn’t hear anything as he carted the box of supplies to the garage. He hoped Sam hadn’t fallen asleep again. That woman was hell to wake up. He gnnned to himself. He’d been surprised by the kiss but had recognized it for what it was and decided to ignore it. In times of crisis, people’s hormones kicked into overdrive. Survival instinct, pure and simple—only his thoughts about Sam were far from pure and not nearly as simple as he pretended.

  He nudged the van door open with his hip and found the woman in question. Sam sat cross-legged in the back of the van, a pile of clothing beside her and his duffel bag in front of her. He felt his grin slip away.

  She looked up at him.

  “Get the hell out of there!”

  Chapter 5

  “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll find your smiley-face boxer shorts?”

  “Just get out of there. Now, Sam!”

  “Jake?”

  He could hear the hurt in her voice and he steeled himself against it. There was nothing he could say. Jake avoided her gaze, standing back to let her slide out of the van, grabbing the forgotten clothing on her way.

  “Just stay out of my stuff and don’t ask questions,” he said when she stood beside him.

  They were inches apart, but the chasm widened with every inane thing he said. He felt her withdraw, felt the fragile thread of trust shatter. He told himself it was just too damn bad. He even tried to believe it.

  “I was just trying to find a place to put my clothes.” She thrust the pile of clothing at him, letting it go before their fingers could touch.

  He relented, his voice softening. It wasn’t her fault he was a total jackass. “I think Annie has a spare bag in the hall closet. Why don’t you get whatever personal stuff you need out of the bathroom and check the closet while I finish up here?”

  She yanked the bundle from his arms and fled the garage before he could add that he was sorry. It was just as well, he thought. There was no point in letting her get too close. And no chance of it, after this. Fletcher pushed past him when he opened the passenger door of the van and vaulted up into the seat. In spite of himself, Jake smiled at him.

  “In the back.” Fletcher sighed like an angst-ridden teenager but obediently climbed in behind. He flopped onto the seat and turned his back on Jake. “Don’t pout,” Jake said. Fletcher let out another huge sigh. Great. He’d offended Sam and the dog. And Fletcher was even better at making him feel guilty. Jake wished fervently that if there was an afterlife he would come back as an overindulged mixed-breed mutt.

  He heard Sam behind him and turned. She shifted from foot to foot, refusing to meet his eyes. Anxious or nervous? he wondered. She’d found Annie’s bag and had it slung over her shoulder. When he reached out to take it from her, she flinched. The movement sparked white-hot anger in him and he took the bag off her shoulder roughly.

  “Don’t, Sam,” he said again. “Nothing has changed. We’re m this together.”

  She looked up then, her eyes burning like green fire as she stared straight through to his soul. “Are we?” she asked. Not waiting for an answer, she climbed into the van and slammed the door.

  The air conditioner blasted out cold air, making the van a protective shell against the oppressive Florida humidity. Sam glanced over at Jake and wondered who would protect her from him. She could kick herself for being so wrong about him. Just when she thought she could trust him, he went strange on her. His grim features gave away nothing, shared nothing. He didn’t want her understanding and that was fine with her. But they were still together, still going to Key West. That had to mean something.

  They left the tidy rows of cracker-box-style houses behind as they merged northbound onto 1-95. Traffic flowed like a steady stream along all four lanes toward Fort Lauderdale.

  Fletcher snored loudly in the back seat, the only noise in the van besides the traffic sounds that filtered through the windows. The silence agitated her, reminding her of the hospital. She sighed and wiped her moist palms across the legs of her jeans. If they were going to be together for a while, she had to talk to him.

  “Where are we going?”

  Jake glanced at her, a look of surprise in his dark eyes that was quickly masked by some other emotion she couldn’t read. “I have to let my partners know what’s going on.”

  “Oh.” She couldn’t tell him what to do or where to go, but she hated him calling the shots. She hadn’t escaped that cuckoo’s nest just to get sent back because he had to run some errands.

  Twenty minutes later, Jake left the freeway and followed a maze of numbered roads, finally stopping at the Fort Lauderdale executive airport. A small plane taxied parallel to them and lifted off with gravity-defying grace. As she followed the direction of the plane, Sam could see the lights of a stadium to the south of the airport.

  Noticing the direction of her gaze, Jake said, “That’s where the Yankees used to spend spring training.”

  “You ever watch them play?” she asked, more for something to say than because she loved baseball.

  “Every year.” The wistful tone in his voice vanished before she could examine it. “Here we are.”

  They had pulled up to the rear of what looked like a bus station. “Now what?”

  “Now you go in there, look for the counter marked Particular Harbor Tours and talk to Brian. There shouldn’t be anyone else there but him. Tell him—”

  “Wait a minute’ Wait one damn minute,” Sam interrupted. “Why me? Why don’t you go find him?”

  Jake shook his head. “That won’t work. My picture has been plastered all over the television and the newspapers, too, most likely. If there are cops still around, they’re looking for me and this is a good place to look.”

  “The police are looking for me, too.”

  “Not this far south, as far as we know. They’ve got every reason to assume you’ve headed back to Atlanta. Or that you’ve been eaten by a gator.”

  She shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Anyway,” he went on, “they don’t know we’re together. Just tell Brian to come out here. Tell him I sent you.” He reached behind his seat and pulled out an emerald-green baseball hat with the words Particular Harbor Tours emblazoned in hot pink across the front. “Wear this. He’ll know you’re with me.”

  Sam’s stomach flip-flopped. but she put the hat on and tucked her ponytail up underneath it. She knew he was right, though she didn’t have to like it. “Fine. How will I know he’s Brian?”

  A smile turned up the corners of Jake’s mouth. “You’ll know. Look for a guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt and belting out Jimmy Buffett tunes.”

  “Sounds easy enough,” Sam muttered, opening the van door. Fletcher raised his head from the back seat at the sound. Jake touched Sam’s hand and she looked up at him.

  “Be careful.”

  “Careful is
my middle name,” she replied, feeling the heat of his touch even after he let go.

  “Could have fooled me. I thought your middle name was Stubborn.”

  Jake’s slow smile heated her insides in a way the Florida sun never could. She ignored that smile, refusing to acknowledge him, and strode to the narrow building. As she opened the door she hoped she wasn’t walking into a trap.

  The airport was nothing more than a row of counters with various names stenciled across them. Sam spotted Particular Harbor Tours and swallowed her fear. Sure enough, a man in his late twenties wearing a bright pink-and-orange floral shirt was at the counter. He had shoulder-length black hair and the easygoing good looks of a surfer. But he wasn’t singing “Margaritaville.” In fact, he looked pretty down.

  Sam walked purposefully toward the counter, careful to avoid making eye contact with any of the other people m the airport—mostly handfuls of tourists and the occasional pilot. Nobody seemed to take a particular interest in her and she didn’t see any uniformed police officers. That had to be a good sign.

  The guy looked up at her approach, smiling what she assumed was his best “Let me take you to paradise” smile. A month ago, that smile would have bowled her over. Right now, all she could think about was getting out of here without being caught.

  “Welcome! Where can Particular Harbor Tours take you?” Then he noticed the hat. “Hey, that’s—”

  “Right,” Sam interrupted. “Jake’s out back. He needs to talk to you.”

  Without questioning her association with Jake, he followed her out into the bright sun, his lanky form casting long shadows over her. Jake had pulled the van into a parking space at the very back of the lot. He must have been watching for them because as they approached, the passenger door opened. Sam climbed in first and moved to share the back seat with an excited Fletcher, while Brian hopped into the passenger seat.

  After greeting the hyperactive dog that was trying to climb over Sam to get to him, Brian turned to Jake. “Man! Where the hell have you been? Do you know what’s going on?”

  Jake nodded. “I know. The police been by?”

  “Yeah. First thing this morning. I hadn’t even seen the papers yet. What’s going on, Jake?”

  “Wish I knew. But until I straighten this mess out, I’m going to be laying low. Can you keep an eye on the place for a few days?”

  Brian nodded. “Of course.”

  “What’s the schedule like?”

  “There’s a group leaving for Saint Thomas tomorrow—that’s under control. I booked two more for next week. I can call Mac in to fly the flights if you can’t.”

  “Good idea,” Jake said. “And would you keep an eye on Annie’s place for me?”

  “Where are you going to be?”

  Jake cast a look back at Sam. “Key West.”

  Brian looked from Jake to Sam. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

  “This is Sam Martin. Sam, this is Brian,” Jake said. “Now that those pleasantries are over, would you mind going back to work?”

  Brian rolled his eyes at Sam. “He’s a taskmaster. Yes sir, boss!” He gave Fletcher one last enthusiastic ear-scratching and climbed out of the van. He hesitated before closing the door and the happy-go-lucky persona faded. “Take care of yourself, buddy. Let me know what’s going on.”

  Jake smiled and even from her vantage point in the back seat Sam could feel the strong bond between the two men. “Sure thing. Just don’t drive us into bankruptcy before I get back.”

  Brian’s laughter faded as he closed the door. Sam climbed back up to the front of the van, catching Jake’s eye. “He’s nice.”

  “Yeah, he’s okay for a kid brother.”

  “He’s your brother?”

  Jake smiled at her astonished look. “Did you think I was hatched in a swamp or something?”

  “You act like it sometimes,” she answered. It made sense, though, the close bond between Jake and Brian. Still, they were as different as the clichéd night and day.

  “Yeah, well, Brian got the charm and good looks and our older brother Mac got the brains and maturity.”

  “Let me guess. There wasn’t anything left for you?”

  “Very funny” Jake stared out the windshield, his body going as still as a granite sculpture.

  “Now what?” Sam asked when the silence became unnerving.

  “Hungry?” Whatever he’d been thinking, it wasn’t about food, but Sam let it go. He wasn’t her business. He’d made that very clear.

  Sam hadn’t thought about food since last night’s rendezvous with the toilet. But her stomach rumbled hollowly and she nodded. “I guess.”

  “We’ll grab some take-out and eat on the way, then.”

  Some of the tension between them had faded since Brian’s appearance and for that, Sam was grateful. Whatever Jake had done or said really shouldn’t matter to her. They had one mutual goal—to get to Key West, get the film and find out who was after them. After that they would go their separate ways, no questions asked. But some niggling doubt in the back of her mind whispered that it wasn’t going to be that easy. He’d already betrayed her once. He could do it again.

  Sam didn’t think her stomach could handle burgers after last night, so they agreed on subs. While Jake and Fletcher waited in the van, Sam stood at the crowded counter of the sub-andsandwich shop fighting back fear and another wave of dizziness. When it came time for Sam to place her order, the teenage waitress stared at her intently, snapping her gum with the enthusiasm of a cow chewing cud.

  “You look so familiar,” the girl drawled, her frizzy red hair bursting out from under her hairnet.

  Sam resisted the urge to bolt. “Uh, yeah, I get that a lot,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes down.

  The girl peered at her, tapping her order pad. “No, really. You look like somebody.” She snagged the shirtsleeve of another waitress walking by and pointed at Sam. “Doesn’t she look like somebody?”

  At this point, the customers behind Sam were getting impatient and Sam knew her face must as pale as an underexposed print. She edged back from the counter slowly. Maybe she could get out before they called the police. One look at the door told her otherwise. Two motorcycle cops had just pulled up next to the van. She couldn’t see Jake’s face from here but he had to have seen them.

  “Yeah, she docs look familiar,” the other waitress was saying.

  “Look, I’m really in a hurry.” Sam had one eye on the frizzy-haired waitress and one eye on the door. The cops seemed in no rush to join the crowd inside. Maybe they would decide to go someplace else

  “Hey! I know who you look like. That actress, what’s her name? Meg Ryan,” the girl said. The other waitress nodded in agreement and moved on.

  A man behind Sam cleared his voice “Now that we’ve taken care of that great mystery could we move it along while it’s still lunchtime?”

  The waitress smiled. “Sorry,” she stage-whispered. “Now, what did you want?”

  Sam felt faint with relief but managed to place her order and collect it without falling apart. But her timing was off; as she approached the door, the two cops chose that moment to come in. Keeping her eyes on the ground, she maneuvered around them. She sighed when she made it out the door without attracting their attention.

  “What took you so long?” Jake complained after she got back into the van. “You’re shaking like a leaf. Are you all right?”

  The trembling in her hands wasn’t just withdrawal anymore. “Didn’t you see the cops?”

  “They didn’t even look at you. What happened inside?”

  “Just a misunderstanding,” Sam said as they got back onto the highway. She handed Jake his turkey-and-Cheddar sub.

  Jake glanced at her. “All right. Just relax.” Fletcher whined pitifully from the back. “I hope you didn’t forget him. He’s not very friendly when he hasn’t eaten.”

  “I didn’t forget him.” Sam unwrapped the roast-beef sub, broke it into bite-size pieces and
spread the wrapper on the floor of the van. “There you go, big guy.” Fletcher didn’t need the encouragement—he inhaled his sandwich and was looking for more before Sam could get her veggie sub unwrapped.

  The food was good, even if the motion of the van made it a little uncomfortable to eat. Sam and Jake shared an extra-large soda while Fletcher slurped water from the cup Sam held for him, sloshing it all over her and the seat. Funny, she’d never particularly liked dogs before. But with Jake the unpredictable as her human companion, she appreciated Fletcher’s canine friendliness.

  They were on 1-95 again, headed south this time. Sam’s sagging spirits were bolstered by her full stomach and the fact that her sub didn’t show any signs of making a return appearance. “Do you think it will be safe to call the police once we’re in Key West?”

  “No,” Jake answered. “Not until we know who’s in those pictures. The fact that they knew where Greg was going means that they have someone on the means. That means the Mob or a dirty cop. Until we find out how far their reach is, it’s not safe to call anyone.”

  “So what happens once we know who is in the pictures?”

  “Then we have something to negotiate with.”

  Sam shivered. It was like something out of a James Bond movie—only the end credits could very well be etched on grave markers for both of them. “What if they don’t want to negotiate with us?”

  He cast her a sidelong glance. “Then we’ll have to find someone we can trust. And hope like hell we don’t get caught by the bad guys first.”

  That put a damper on things. Sam sat back in her seat, content to close her eyes and visualize a peaceful place where she’d be safe. The steady hum of the engine and the motion of the van nearly lulled her to sleep. She snuggled down in the cushioned softness. When the van suddenly slowed, Sam cracked one eye open to see what the problem was.