Eric Stewart tried to ignore the threatening cramp in his thigh as he gradually increased his running pace. He couldn't believe how out of shape six weeks in a leg cast had left him or—even three weeks since the cast had been removed—how hard it still was to get back into the groove of regular exercise. Running wasn't something he did for its much-touted "high," or because he was "into" anything; it was simply something he did to counter the eight to ten hours he spent behind a desk every day. The accident that had put his leg in the cast, and his car in the shop, had also reinforced his conviction that life was too short not to live it to the fullest. And if that meant running to keep in shape, so be it-boring or not.
His thoughts digressed from his still-stiff leg to the phone call he had made to Hong Kong. He had wanted to tell his vacationing parents about the accident before they heard about it from his sister. He chuckled at the memory. Once his father had ascertained that Eric was going to live, he had skipped the minor details of his son's injuries and gone straight to asking about the damage done to the car. It wasn't until Eric had detailed every scratch and dint, and had convinced his father that they were only minor that he got him to calm down. Will Stewart was a rational man about anything and everything save two things—his family and the Shelby Cobra he had ceremoniously passed on to his only son the day Eric became a full partner in San Francisco's leading corporate law firm.
Eric had been so overwhelmed by the gift that he had been speechless. Until the day Will gave Eric the car, he and Susan had jokingly speculated on the arrangements their father had made to take the Cobra with him when he died. But all Eric's condescending thoughts had abruptly changed when he took ownership. Within days, he began to understand his father's intense pride in such a magnificent machine. The Cobra did every-thing a car was supposed to do and did it better than any other vehicle on the road. At least that was Eric's and Will's unshakable opinion. As far as they were concerned, anyone who didn't agree was either pathetically uninformed or incredibly pigheaded.
After Eric had owned the car a while, it turned out that the only major difference between father and son as far as love for the Cobra was their philosophy on how best to appreciate it. When Will had owned the Cobra he had locked it in a temperature-controlled garage, to be dusted and admired and never taken out except for a drive around the block or to be trailered to car shows. Eric took every bit as much care—fanatically listening and responding to every nuance of the motor and chassis—only he drove the car daily, using it for transportation to and from work.
Lost in his musings, Eric completed the second curve in his looping course. Suddenly a sound drifted through the fog that made his heart catch in his throat. It was a sound he recognized as clearly as his own voice—the throaty roar of the Cobra's engine. His one nightmare was coming true—someone was stealing his car.
Dammit! A frustrated groan passed his lips. He felt completely helpless. He had heard enough about car thieves and how they operated to know that once a car like the Cobra was gone, it was gone forever. It would be cut up for parts or shipped across the country within days. If he was going to do something, he had to do it fast.
Adrenaline surged through him. He searched through the fog for a familiar landmark, trying to decide whether it was shorter to go on or head back the way he had come. He made his choice and sprinted forward.
He arrived at the top of the hill overlooking the parking lot just in time to see the Cobra's headlights swing around the corner and out onto the main street. Saying a silent prayer that the thief would take another hard left onto the back road to avoid traffic, he started down the other side of the hill and headed toward the narrow road that led out of the Presidio.
Because he had less than half the distance to cover to get to the road and because Janet couldn't get the Cobra out of first gear and was therefore going less than twenty miles an hour, Eric arrived first. Mentally calculating how fast the Cobra was coming and how much time he needed to get out of the way if his plan didn't work, Eric stepped in front of the moving car, waving his hands.
Janet was frantically trying to get the Cobra into second gear, and she didn't look up until she was almost on top of Eric. She let out a terrified scream. With the fog swirling around him and the glare of the headlights bleaching his coloring, he filled the roadway in front of her like a gigantic apparition. By reflex, she jerked the steering wheel to the right. After that everything seemed to happen at once. The car skidded sideways, lurched and plummeted down an embankment. When it finally stopped going forward, it started to roll over onto its left side. For several breathtaking seconds it teetered on two wheels, then with a creaking groan, slowly righted itself. In front of her, the headlights stabbed the milky blackness ineffectually, as if she had landed in a void.
Janet sat very still, listening to the silence, waiting for her body to tell her whether she should try to move. When nothing cried out in pain, she tentatively eased herself upright in the driver's seat. So far, so good. She flexed her toes, rotated her ankles and bent her elbows. Everything seemed to be working as usual. She reached for the handle; it moved freely, but the door wouldn't open. She tried again, only this time, she used her shoulder to give it a little push. Nothing. She braced herself to exert more pressure, then the sound of something crashing through the bushes behind her made her decide it might be wiser for her to stay where she was. It was probably an illusion, but she felt there was a modicum of safety in her steel-and-glass cocoon.
As Eric started down the ravine, he hit his stiff leg against a tree stump. When he bent over to clasp his throbbing thigh, he lost his balance and rolled down the hill. He landed on his side, and looked up to realize he had stopped directly beside the Cobra. He instantly forgot about himself and began looking for signs of damage to the car. But reflecting off the fog, the headlights provided only enough light to let him see that the thief was still inside. He struggled to his feet, blind fury guiding his actions. Standing beside the softly hissing vehicle, his voice filled with menace, he glared at the figure behind the steering wheel. "Get out."
Janet looked through the window and into the angriest eyes she had ever seen. She inched away from the door. "I can't…" She had meant to sound confident, but her words had come out as little more than a pathetic squeak. "It's stuck," she added, the words equally high-pitched.
Eric bent over to peer into the car. His eyes widened in surprise. A woman had stolen his car. He continued to stare at her, studying her in the soft light coming from the dashboard. She didn't look like a car thief. But then again, what was a car thief supposed to look like? He tried to open the door himself. He was no more successful than she had been. Thinking he might be able to work the handle from the inside, he demanded, "Roll down the window."
"Hah!" Not even the three little pigs had been that stupid. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the hands clenching and unclenching at his sides were doing so because they were anxious to get around her neck.
Closing his eyes, Eric took a deep breath and told himself to calm down. It didn't work. His fury had a mind of its own. "Look," he said in a deadly monotone, "either you roll down the window, or you can get out of the way while I break it in." This was pure bluff, but it sounded good. He was as incapable of purposely smashing one of the Cobra's windows as he was of passing by a Salvation Army kettle at Christmas without emptying his pockets of change.
It was more his tone of voice than the threatening words that convinced Janet that she wasn't dealing with a rational man. She decided to stall for time, hoping someone had seen the car go over the embankment and had called for help. "I'll open the window if, and when, you calm down—and not before." She sounded like a mother chastising her child.
Eric leaned his arms on the side of the car at the base of the window and pressed his face close to the glass. "Since that's not likely to happen any time before next week, I'd suggest you do what I ask before I get any angrier."
So much for defiance. Maybe reasoning would w
ork. "What are you so mad about, anyway? You must have known this was going to happen sooner or later. After all, banks have never been known for their warm-heartedness. Try to look on the bright side. You probably won't even have to pay the insurance deductible to have this thing fixed; the bank will be liable for it."
He stared at her. "Would you mind running that by me one more time?"
At least he was talking to her in a more normal tone of voice. "If you had kept up your payments," she went on, "none of this would have happened. Actually, in a way, this whole thing tonight is all your fault."
"Payments?" he repeated. "My fault?"
She was on a roll. "What's more, because of your irresponsible behavior, I'm undoubtedly out the two hundred dollars I was supposed to be paid for this job. And on top of everything else, I'll probably flunk my English Lit test tomorrow because I'll never get home in time to study for it tonight."
This time it was Eric's turn to back away. Either the beautiful young woman sitting on the other side of the window had hit her head in the crash, or he was dealing with someone playing with a woefully short deck. He held his hands out in a gesture of goodwill. "See…I've calmed down. Now do you think you might roll down the window for me?"
She eyed him suspiciously. "Why are you talking to me like that?"
"Like what?" He forced a smile.
"Like you're dealing with a two-year-old." Somehow she had trusted him more when he was yelling at her. Suddenly the air above him took on a pulsating red glow. Janet's gaze moved to the top of the hill; Eric's followed. As they stared, a disembodied, mechanically aided voice shattered the stillness. "Are you all right down there?"
In response to the intrusion, both Janet and Eric let out private sighs of relief. "Thank God," they simultaneously murmured.
2
A spotlight swept back and forth across the ravine before coming to rest on the wrecked car and its occupant. Within minutes two policemen were climbing down the hillside and heading toward them. Janet decided she had never been so relieved to see anyone. They weren't riding white horses or sounding a bugle call, but that didn't stop her from feeling as though she were a trapped settler with the cavalry coming to the rescue.
When the policemen arrived, the first thing they did was ask Janet if she was hurt; the next, after they had tried opening her door, was to go around and open the passenger door. As she got out, she and Eric exchanged sheepish glances. Neither of them had thought to do anything so logical.
The younger of the two officers asked for Eric's identification. While he took down the information, the older one turned to Janet. He eyed her coolly, but as far as she could tell, unjudgmentally. "Now, then, why don't you tell me what's going on here?"
Where should she start? The past two days had begun to take on the wacky nature of a French farce. She took a deep breath and decided it was best to begin at the beginning. "My name is Janet Franklin. I want you to know that I don't usually do this kind of work— That's probably why I've made such a mess of things tonight. I'm only here because my friend, Casey Ellington, thinks she's in love again. You see, she had this hot date for this evening, and insisted she would die if she couldn't keep it, so I said I would take over for her—"
The officer lowered the pencil he had held poised over his notebook and looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Why don't you skip over the motivations for the time being and simply tell me how you came to be in this man's car at the bottom of this gully."
She gave him a quick grin. "Just the facts, huh?"
He nodded.
"Well, I'll do my best. Casey works for this man named Louie who—"
"What's Louie's last name?"
Janet thought a moment, then shook her head. She was sure she had never heard Casey mention Louie's last name.
"It may come to you."
"I don't think so. Casey said his name several times, but I'm sure she never used anything other than Louie."
"We'll work on it later. For now, why don't you just go on with the story."
She was fairly sure he didn't want to hear about the state of the economy or about how people were missing loan payments, so she skipped over that part. "Louie has this business repossessing cars for banks when they have someone who is delinquent on their loan. This past year the workload became so heavy that he had to hire help. Casey is one of his employees…"
She suddenly realized the other officer had stopped talking and was watching her, his eyes lighted with a knowing smile.
"Go on," the older policeman prodded.
She felt a peculiar lump in her throat. "And as I told you before, Casey asked me to help her out tonight, so I did."
"Let me be sure I've got this straight. You were in the process of repossessing this car when you had the accident, is that right?"
The lump was growing. "Uh-huh."
The policeman turned to Eric. "And what do you have to say about all of this?"
"This car has been in my family for twenty years. Not once, in all that time, has there ever been a loan against it."
Janet tried to swallow. "He's lying," she managed to say. "He has to be," she added in a choked whisper.
"Can I see the registration?" the older policeman asked.
Eric went around the car, opened the glove box and took out a piece of paper. He handed it to the officer. After he had checked the registration, he turned it so that Janet could see. "There's only one name listed, ma'am, just Mr. Stewart's—not any bank."
"There has to be a mistake."
"Yes," he said slowly. "I'd say that's probably true. Now if you'll just come along with me, I'm sure we can find out more about this 'mistake' down at the station."
" 'Station?' You want me to go to a police station?"
"If you don't mind," he said, his voice dripping sarcasm.
As Eric watched Janet, he was surprised to discover he believed her crazy story. At least, he believed she believed what she said. He doubted anyone could fake the transformation he had just witnessed. Her arrogant confidence had disappeared, leaving her as wide-eyed and terrified looking as a wild animal caught in a trap.
They went over to the embankment and began climbing up the slick surface. Halfway to the top, Janet lost her footing and let out a gasp as she started to slide backward. Eric braced himself and reached out to catch her.
"Thanks," she said, brushing debris from her sweat pants.
He stared down at her. "Purely reflex, I assure you." She glanced up to see if he was serious. Large dark noncommittal eyes stared back into hers. "Listen… I'm truly sorry about your car. I'll pay for the damage." Just how she would go about paying him she hadn't worked out yet.
Slowly the menacing snarl became a lopsided grin. "I'd like to be there when you explain this to your insurance agent."
"Oh, I doubt that I'll go through the insurance company. I can't afford to have them raise my rates again." He ignored the "again."
"And you think it would be cheaper to pay for the repairs yourself?" He thought of the bill he had recently paid for the "minor" bodywork performed on the Cobra. It had been only a few hundred dollars less than a first-year law clerk's annual salary.
"I have a friend who does this kind of repair work on the side. He's not only reasonable, he'll let me pay the bill a little at a time." When Eric didn't immediately answer, she added, "Don't worry, he does beautiful work. I ran into a concrete pole with my Volkswagen last summer and almost wiped out the entire front end. When Phil was through with the car, it looked as good as new."
A flashlight beam swept over them. "I think our escorts are beginning to wonder what's keeping us." Eric reached for her hand and started back up the hill, pulling her along behind him. As soon as they reached the top, he released her hand and turned to stare down the ravine at the Cobra.
"We've called a tow truck for your car, Mr. Stewart," the younger policeman said. "It should be here any time now."
"Thank you."
"After you have everything taken c
are of here, we'd like you to stop by the station to sign some papers," he added.
Janet hugged herself against the cold as she eavesdropped on their exchange. In the distance, she saw the promised tow truck approaching. The cast of characters expands, she thought grimly. The only one missing in their little drama was Louie. Louie! "Officer—" She reached out to tug on his sleeve. "If you'll take me to the corner of Market and Second Street, I think I can clear all of this up without any of us having to go to the station."
"Oh?" he replied, obviously not believing her, but listening anyway.
"That's where I was supposed to take the car after I repossessed if." She could not let go of the possibility that what had happened this evening was simply a case of mistaken identity. She had to believe that somewhere in San Francisco there was a man who fitted Eric Stewart's description who also happened to own a Shelby Cobra and was delinquent on his payments. "Louie is there right now waiting for me. I'm sure he can explain all of this."
"I thought you'd never met this Louie."
"I haven't."
"Then how will you know him?"
His condescending tone rankled and his logic hurt.
"I… don't know," she reluctantly admitted.
"Ms Franklin, are you aware that in the State of California, people who repossess cars must be licensed?"
The hole she was in had just grown a foot deeper. "Everyone, or just the person who owns the business?" But she already knew the answer. Casey would never have asked her to take the car if she had known a license was needed.
A Week from Friday Page 2
