by Lori Wilde
“You really have a problem relinquishing control, you know that?”
“Me? You’re saying I’m a control freak?” Incensed, Mason splayed a palm over his chest.
Easy, you know she’s just gigging you because she’s mad at herself.
“Do they drink tea in China?” She jerked her chin up, the look in her eyes challenging him.
“I’m the control freak? You’re the one who refused to move your car simply because you didn’t want to take my advice.” Okay, so he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about the damned car.
“That’s sooo not the reason I didn’t move the ‘Vette. And just look at you.” She waved a hand at him. “Your clothes are perfectly pressed. Not a hair out of place. Your friggin’ shoes are even shined. Only a control freak is that put together at six o’clock in the morning.”
“Or someone who happens to take pride in the impression he creates.”
“Yeah, the impression of a control freak.”
A plane took off overhead, drowning out his reply, which was probably a good thing. The woman could try the pope’s patience.
“You can’t even let the wallet go, can you?” he heard her say after the plane had cleared the airport. “Gotta run to the police.”
“My driver’s license is in there. And my credit cards. My triple A card. Not to mention eight hundred dollars in cash.”
“It’s gone, Mason. The cops won’t be able to get it back for you. Be realistic. But you can’t let anything go, can you?”
He gritted his teeth hard. Calm down. Breathe deep. “You don’t understand.”
“Control freak.”
“Woman,” he ground out and sent her a don’t-mess-with-me warning, “you have a talent for pushing a man to the limits of his patience.”
“I’m trying to get you to quit your yammering and get on the road before something serious happens to our grandparents. We’re wasting precious time.” Charlee tapped the face of her wristwatch.
“I’m not so convinced a crazed trip through the desert is the most prudent move. How do we know for sure that’s where they’re going?”
“We don’t, but do you have a better idea?” She cocked her head and spread her arms wide. “I’m open to input.”
He paused, then admitted, “I don’t have any better ideas.”
“Okay then, Slick. Let’s hit the highway.”
Thirty minutes and twenty-five desert miles later, Charlee was seriously regretting goading Mason into the road trip. He’d been on his cell phone to his secretary, instructing her to report his credit cards stolen and wire money to him in Tucson.
He had also talked briefly with his father but Charlee noticed he didn’t give many details about what had happened. He just told him that he had discovered Nolan was on his way to Tucson and he was following him. He never mentioned either Maybelline or herself.
It was strange listening to the one-sided conversation. She had the feeling Mason tiptoed around a lot of hot button topics with his father. Like stolen wallets and Elvis impersonator kidnappers and sassy lady private investigators who didn’t drive to suit him.
He had hated giving her the keys to his Bentley, but when she suggested he go ahead and take the wheel even though he didn’t have his license, he had actually lectured her from the highway safety manual.
She could tell by the way he had painstakingly pulled the keys from his pocket he would much rather have a tooth extracted without Novocain than let her behind the wheel of his vintage vehicle. But apparently his sense of right and wrong was so deeply engrained he couldn’t conceive of driving without a license.
Too bad for him. Nice for her. She got to pilot a Bentley.
Ah, but at what cost.
“Slow down,” Mason demanded, his face the color of a yucca in full bloom as Charlee took a bump in the road at seventy-five miles per hour. The Bentley glided through the dip on marshmallow shock absorbers—smooth and sweet. “What’s the speed limit through here?”
“Control freak.”
“If you say that one more time…”
“You’ll what?” she dared, surprised by the quick thrill of pleasure pulsing through her at his threat. “Take me over your knee and spank me?”
“Not that you couldn’t use a good spanking.” He glowered. “But I don’t strike women.”
“Not even if I like it?” She winked, both terrified and turned on by her naughty boldness. He was so damned stuffy, she couldn’t help but try and shock him. Shocking this uptight blue blood, however, was a bit like dynamiting carp in a horse trough.
She was so busy teasing him, the right front tire left the road and strummed irritatingly across those wake-up-you-desert-hypnotized-ninny strips.
“Keep your eyes on the road,” he yelled.
Startled, she jerked the steering wheel, ended up overcompensating and weaved slightly into the northbound lane. Luckily, there was no oncoming traffic.
“Shit!” Mason exclaimed and lunged for the wheel.
She jabbed him in the rib cage with her elbow before he could slap his hands on the steering wheel. “Back off, I’m driving.”
“Oww.” He rubbed his ribs. “You’re a lunatic. You know that?”
“Don’t grab the wheel when someone else is driving.”
“Where the hell did you get your driver’s license? Britain?”
“That’s a pretty good one actually. Maybe you do have a sense of humor.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny. Stop the car.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot. Nobody was coming. And besides, I wouldn’t have wandered into the other lane if you hadn’t hollered at me.”
“Stop the car.”
“So what, now you’re going to drive? I thought you couldn’t drive without your license.” Charlee peered over at him. She started to make another smart remark, but she saw the muscle in his jaw tick and realized just how angry he was.
“I do want to see my grandfather one last time before I die. I’ll take my chances. Stop the car.”
“Wooo. Now you’re breaking the law.”
“Hush, woman,” he commanded.
His tone told her to back off if she didn’t want to see a Texas aristocrat lose his temper. Trying hard not to grin, Charlee slowed the Bentley and pulled onto the shoulder. She cut the engine and scooted over to the passenger side when Mason got out.
She darted a look over her shoulder. He stalked purposefully around the car. A delicious little shiver, like a cat running up stair steps, scampered through her. What was it about the proud set of his shoulders, his determined ground eating stride, the way his hair tapered down the back of his neck that so tickled her fancy?
Mercy.
Knock it off, Charlee, unless you’re looking to get hurt. Stop thinking about him. He’s nothing but trouble with capital letters.
Fat lot of good that lecture accomplished.
Something about him—exactly what she couldn’t say—touched her in a way she’d never known. Her emotions were confused, muddled. She was sexually attracted to him, oh, yeah, but her feelings for him were more than just that. It was passion taken to a whole new level. The sensation burned inside her chest sharp and clean and bright. But she couldn’t name the feeling, even if someone had offered a million tax-free bucks to do so.
The pulse at the hollow of her throat jumped and sweat popped out on her brow as a myriad of naughty fantasies flashed through her mind. She could almost feel his strong masculine hands on her body, his fingers tickling her tender flesh.
He slid behind the wheel and slammed the car door after him, breaking her from her illicit reverie. Charlee’s hands shook so hard she had to sit on them.
She’d been too long without sex. That’s all there was to it. She had to stop her flights of fantasy.
“You okay?” he asked gruffly. “You’re looking a little weird.”
“I do?”
“You’re all red in the face.” He arched an eyebrow. “Like someone caught wa
tching a nudie peep show.”
“Excuse me?”
Immediately, she went on the offensive. Maybelline had drilled into her head the best defense was a good offense and boy, was she ripe for defending herself before Handsome Dimples here discovered just how much power he wielded over her.
“Are you embarrassed about something?”
“This is the desert, in case you haven’t noticed it’s over a hundred degrees outside. That’s why my face is red. No other reason. Now get the engine started and crank up the AC.”
“Anything you want as long as I’m driving,” he said, pulling back onto the road. He turned the air conditioner on high and then stuck a Charlotte Church CD into the CD player.
Eww. Ick.
She should have known he would have highbrow taste in music when what she wanted to hear was something loud with a strong, throbbing beat. On second thought, perhaps Charlotte was the better choice. Nobody could have sexual daydreams with that glass-shattering noise.
Sighing, Charlee forced herself not to notice what an exceptionally fine profile Mason presented and instead directed her gaze out the window at the arid roll of landscape stretching out before them.
It was going to be a very long trip.
Just then Charlee caught the reflection of a white Chevy Malibu in the side-view mirror. They were the only two cars on the road for as far as the eye could see.
Something in the back of her brain niggled.
For the third time in the last twenty-four hours she’d spotted a four-door white Chevy Malibu. The car was a common enough make and maybe she was jumping to conclusions, but the first time she’d noticed a white sedan had been outside Maybelline’s trailer after it had been ransacked. The second time had been at the apartment fire. Coincidence?
She didn’t think so.
While Miss Church trilled her earsplitting soprano, Charlee kept an eye on the sedan. It stayed a good ten car lengths behind them.
“Speed up,” she told Mason.
“I’m already doing seventy.”
“Just speed up.”
“Why?”
“Do you have to be a privileged pain in the ass about everything?”
“I don’t want to get pulled over. Lest you forget I have no driver’s license.”
Charlee sighed. “Remember when we were in Maybelline’s trailer and I told you to duck and you wouldn’t listen to me?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, speed up.”
“Are you saying there’s a mad gunman after us?”
“Maybe.”
Mason sped up.
Charlee squinted into the side-view mirror.
The Malibu sped up too.
“Slow down.”
“What?”
“Please don’t make me repeat myself.”
Thankfully, he didn’t argue, but slowed the Bentley.
The Malibu decelerated.
Charlee sucked in her breath. No doubt about it.
They were being followed.
CHAPTER 6
I still can’t believe your son kidnapped us.” Nolan shook his head and for the hundredth time tested the ropes binding his hands behind his back.
He and Maybelline were locked in the back of a rented camper together and without the benefit of air-conditioning. A swelter of sweat dampened the back of his shirt and his arthritis nagged at him to shift positions.
The camper’s side windows were wide open but the blast of desert air was anything but cooling. Maybelline’s kid was a jerk, but considering who his daddy was Nolan wasn’t too surprised.
“I should have left him on his father’s doorstep when I had the chance,” Maybelline grumbled.
“You were too good of a mama, you couldn’t have abandoned him.”
“Good mama. Ha! That’s awfully sweet of you to try and make me feel better, but if I were a good mama would my son be such an asshole?”
“You raised your granddaughter and from what you tell me she’s turned out great,” Nolan soothed.
“I raised her because my no-account son wouldn’t do his duty.” Maybelline paused. “Charlee is the best thing in my life, but I worry I did her a huge disservice. Moving around like I did. We never stayed in one place longer than a year or two.”
“Why’s that?”
“After growing up in Red Bay, Texas, you’ve got to ask me that question? I didn’t want any small-minded, small-town attitude painting Charlee with the same brush I got painted with. Every place was a new start, a grand new adventure. And she never complained.”
“But?”
Maybelline shrugged. “She has trouble making friends. I mean she has a lot of acquaintances, people she can hang out with, but nobody she tells her secrets to. She never learned how to get close to people. I figure that’s all my doing. I wanted her to be free to choose her own life, not be defined by what others thought of her. I taught her to be tough, to stand on her own two feet and not depend on anyone. Well, she’s free and independent all right, but I worry she’ll never be able to trust a man enough to let him love her.”
“Hmm, strong, brave, independent, and knows her own mind. Charlee sounds a lot like someone else I know,” Nolan said.
“I don’t want her to end up like me.”
“What’s wrong with the way you ended up?”
Maybelline didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s a lonely way to live.”
Her pain cut him to the quick. For the last forty-seven years, while he’d been surrounded by his loving family, Maybelline had been out in the world struggling to raise first her son and then her granddaughter alone.
“I’m sorry about Elwood,” he said, not even beginning to know how to apologize to her for the loneliness she’d suffered. He felt guilty somehow that she’d never found anyone to love. “We can’t be held responsible for what our grown kids do, Maybelline.”
“Try telling Elwood that. He blames me for everything gone wrong in his life.”
Nolan thought of his own son and winced. Reed was bound to blame him for the mess he’d gotten the family business into and with good reason. He was to blame.
“What’s with the Elvis costume?” Nolan asked, changing the subject. “You’d think Elwood would want to be as inconspicuous as possible. Seeing as how he’s committing a felony.”
Maybelline snorted. “Obviously you don’t know my son. He craves attention. Got a big dose of his daddy’s theatrical blood in him. Wears that damned white jumpsuit everywhere he goes. Sometimes I think he imagines he really is Elvis.”
“What do you think he’s planning on doing with us?”
“I don’t know. 1 never could decipher what went on in that boy’s head.” Maybelline sighed.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get us out of this mess and without hurting your son.”
She eyed him skeptically. “Nolan, you can stop being so protective. I’m not that pregnant sixteen-year-old you took under your wing.”
“Even back then it took an act of Congress to get you to let me help you.”
“I’ve been fighting my own battles for a long time and the last thing this old bird needs is for some man to start blowing smoke up her dress. I’m a realist. Elwood is not the brightest bulb in the package and the odds of something getting screwed up in his little kidnapping scheme are pretty high. In fact, I’ve been sitting here composing my obituary.”
“Still bracing yourself for the worst.” Nolan looked her squarely in the eyes.
Maybelline notched her chin up in that stubbornly defiant way of hers. Lord, she was a fighter, in spite of her silly speech about writing her obit. “I didn’t get life handed to me on a silver platter. The school of hard knocks kinda takes the rosy shine off positive thinking.”
“No need to snap at me because you’re feeling guilty,” Nolan said, reading her like a road map. “What Elwood is doing is not your fault. Everything is going to work out fine. You’ll see.”
“Your cockeyed optimism is treading on my last nerve,” she g
roused.
“I know.” He grinned. “And you love me for it.”
“You’ve gotten kinda egotistical in your old age, Nolan Gentry.”
“You think so?”
“May be not. Maybe you were always egotistical and I just forgot.”
The camper hit a bump and bounced Maybelline against his shoulder. The contact was comforting. He wished his hands were free so he could wrap an arm around her.
“The boy drives like a maniac,” she said, but didn’t try to inch away.
Nolan liked having her next to him, even if their combined body heat raised the already miserable temperature in the camper. He wondered if she liked the closeness too.
“Where do you think he’s taking us?”
“I’ve been racking my brain over that question for the last hundred miles trying to second-guess him and can’t come up with an answer. I just hope it’s not Mexico. He’s got a fascination with Mexico.”
“What I don’t understand is why he won’t give us the files, take his blackmail money, and go on his merry way.”
“I think that’s the rub. I think he’s lying. I don’t think he has all of the files. Just a few papers like the copies I gave to you. Not enough to prove anything in court.”
“Sooner or later he’s got to stop to let us out. We’ll try to talk some sense into him then,” Nolan said.
“Either that or we’ll bash him over the head and take the camper,” Maybelline said grimly.
“Woman, you are bloodthirsty.” Nolan chuckled.
“If I’d whopped his britches when he was little maybe he wouldn’t have turned out like he did.”
“It’s going to be all right. Have faith.”
“Easy for you to say, old man. You’ve had lots of experience with things turning out the way you want them to turn out.”
“Well, you’re with me now, Maybelline, so you better get used to things turning out right for you too.”
She made a derisive noise but he saw a flicker of hope in her eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Mason felt edgy in a way he couldn’t define. Tension knotted the muscles across his back so tight they ached. Every time he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the Malibu, an angry testiness soured his gut.
