by Layne, Lyssa
She served them coffee, then took their breakfast orders. “What he’d been up to since we got out of school?”
Brad gave her a quick edited account.
After she served their food, Brad noticed the television breaking into the morning show with a news bulletin. Luckily the place was empty.
“Ash, will you turn up the television, please?”
“Sure.” She grabbed the remote and punched a button.
The NBC news report started out with the local reporter announcing the beginning of the news conference. “Here comes Captain Van Norton now…let’s see what he has to say.”
Van Norton sets papers down on the podium and began to speak.
Just the visual of the superior officer was enough to piss Brad off.
“It is with much regret that I announce to the public that this morning, Judge Stanley Graves signed the arrest warrants on two of my officers, Lieutenant Bradley Maxwell and his partner Detective Joe Gallagher. At this time we believe both officers were responsible for the murder of Lieutenant Marty Rodriguez almost three weeks ago. If anyone has any information on the location of these two men, you are being asked to call the Newport Beach Police Department at 1-800-288-8200.”
Stunned, Brad's jaw dropped.
Christine dropped her coffee cup spilling the contents on the counter.
Ashley quickly grabbed a rag to wipe up the mess before it ran over the edge. She ogled at Brad with smiling blue eyes and shook her head. “Some things never change, Maxwell. Looks like you’re still getting into a heap of trouble.” She jerked a thumb to the television behind her then turned off the television. “Do they really expect us to believe all that hogwash?”
“Thanks, Ash. Listen, I need you to keep quiet about seeing us here.”
“Brad Maxwell, I’ve known you since kindergarten when you tried to kiss me on the jungle gym. And in all that time never once have you done anything mean-spirited. I’m sure they have it wrong, so don’t you worry. If I hear anyone talking about it, I’ll be sure to hush’em up. Now, you two skedaddle before anyone else sees you. If you need anything, you just call me here and I’ll be sure to bring you whatever you need out to your grandfather’s. By the way, did anyone ever figure out that robbery you were arrested for was you covering for your cousin?”
“No—wait—you knew?” Brad felt the blood drain from his face. What the hell?
“Are you kidding, all us kids knew. We also knew you’d never let your cousin go to jail for it. You always took the blame to keep his ass clean.”
“Thanks Ash, I appreciate it.” He placed a chaste kiss on her cheek then took Christine by the hand and pulled her out of the diner before anyone else could enter. They’d have to wait to eat until they reached gramps.
Christine put her black helmet on mechanically climbing on the back of his bike silent as a mute.
Brad feared the thoughts running through her mind, and hoped her silence wasn’t a sign of regret.
He'd never felt so much tension in his neck and back, like he was hanging by a seriously frayed shirt collar with a deep chasm beneath his feet. He shrugged his shoulders, took a deep breath, held it, then let go in an attempt to loosen tight muscles, to no avail.
He fastened his helmet into place, straddled the seat and started his motorcycle. With a cloud of dust and a barrage of gravel, he accelerated out of the parking lot.
They passed the town’s single grocery store, down past the tiny post office, and the only other restaurant. Brad glanced down Gold Street. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth at the sight of Grant’s Hardware. There was something calming in the sight of something familiar, a landmark that withstood time. He hated helmets normally, but today he was grateful for the cover their helmets provided, allowing them to slip through town virtually unnoticed.
Once they passed Baker Ranch, Brad began to relax. Almost home.
Christine still had a death grip around his waist.
He'd put her in danger again. The chill between them seemed to grow. Or was it his imagination? God, he hoped so.
Brad turned off just past Sugar Pine Road and rode on past the lake then onto Iowa Hill Road. He drove the road from memory. Anger built inside him while the news conference assaulted his mind again and again and again. At times in slow motion. Other times, the memories played in his mind with the speed of light.
He’d been set up and by someone in the department he so loved. How could they do that to him? How could the superior officers that had trained him go to such lengths to falsely accuse him of this crime? Accusing him of murder.
He was proud of his record and the fact that he’d never killed anyone. Any shots that he’d fired in the line of duty had been to injure, not to kill or maim. Yet, the same people, who’d awarded him medals for bravery, citations for jobs well done, and once considered him the most decorated officer on the force, had now been reduced his status to that of a murder suspect status.
But he'd have his say, if he didn't get himself killed first.
Gramps loved to say, 'Every little ole dog has his day.' He hoped to hell he was right.
***
Christine clasped her arms around Brad’s waist, her head turned to the side letting her helmet rest against the back of his jacket. When he turned off onto the gravel road her entire body vibrated with each bump and rut.
What had she gotten herself into? How had her life gone so completely out of control? Losing her leg hadn't been bad enough. In a relatively short time she’d met a man she longed to know intimately. She'd begun to think of a future for herself and this man whom she loved beyond reason. Instead, she'd been shot, her car destroyed, and now she was being chased all over the countryside by a deranged lunatic.
She’d started her career in miraculous shades of glory. The sales from her work would fund the improvements of her dreams. She could now proudly hold her head high knowing she’d done all she could to repay the man who saved her life.
Jared may have saved her life, but Brad had stolen her heart and soul.
Brad.
Yes, she loved him, his sensitivity, his courage, and the inner strength he provided every time he held her close. She loved the passionate woman he’d brought out in her. The one she didn’t even know existed. Most of all, she loved that he cared, unconditionally, regardless of some of his misguided beliefs. And they hadn't even made love yet.
Now here they were, in Brad’s hometown, trying to find a safe haven in a world gone crazy.
If only Brad didn’t feel so responsible for her safety, he’d be able to clear himself. After all, they’d found all three bullets. And even if the evidence had been lost, that alone convinced her beyond a shadow of a doubt that someone on the crime scene team and I.A. weren't doing their jobs.
No, she knew it even before that, back to that first night. The first time he’d kissed her after that nasty reporter interrupted her show. The moment Brad came to her rescue, not allowing that weasel to come any closer to her, for the first time in her life knew what it meant to be cherished.
Brad may not know it yet, but he definitely had what it took to be the man who could make her trust again. For her to love for the sake of love, when she thought those days were long gone.
Thanks to her faith in Brad alone, she finally felt whole. Even if they never made love, never had a future together, she knew her life had changed forever. If only Brad weren’t so afraid of her safety. If Brad remained so focused on her safety he put his own life in jeopardy. For the sake of her love for Brad, she would keep her feelings to herself, hidden away. Then maybe after Brad proved his innocence they’d make a future.
In the meantime, she’d protect him as best she could by holding her tongue, watching his back, and believing her faith in him would keep him safe from harm.
One thing for certain, whatever they did, they had to do it together. Together they were invincible. Together they would beat the odds.
The only problem that stood between them right no
w was uncovering the true killer of Marty Rodriguez. How they’d manage to accomplish that was the true mystery. She tightened her hold on the man she loved, the man she'd die for. The truth would come out. She had to believe it. Without that faith, they'd be hiding forever.
She'd never let him go through this alone. It didn’t matter how wild or crazy the ride ahead of them would be, she was in it until the end. No matter what that end would be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Joe awakened from a sound sleep to the sound of banging against the metal door of Nick’s shop. He remained silent, knowing it couldn’t be Nick. He’d have a key.
The pounding continued, but this time was followed by a shout.
“This is the police. Open up Gallagher, we know you’re in there. We have a warrant for your arrest.”
They’d found him faster than he thought they would.
Before Joe could think, much less move, a hidden door panel slid open and Nick slipped into the shop.
“Get the hell out of here. I can cover for you, but I don’t know for how long.”
Joe stuffed his feet into his shoes and stood. “How do you suggest I slip past the officers out there waiting to roast me alive in order to find Brad?” He grabbed his jacket.
Nick pointed to the opening he'd come from. “You’re going to slip out the same way I came in.”
Joe’s pulse raced. His palms were sweating, but he listened intently to Nick's instructions and directions to a car he'd left out of sight. Then he too was on the run.
“—once you get there, go directly to the black Jeep. There's a key under the driver's seat. Get your ass out of here before those fools break down the damned door.”
Joe slapped Nick on the back, then ducked out the back.
Nick headed for his desk. Opening the bottom drawer, he pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels from its hiding place. He opened the bottle, poured a bit of the strong brew into his palm then proceeded to dribble it over his wrinkled clothing. Then, taking a swig from the bottle, he made his way to the back room. Rustling his hair so it would look like he’d been asleep, he stretched himself out across the cot. Shaking the blanket out to cover his body, he left one leg hanging off at a side. He pulled the cover up to his chin and reached his arm across his eyes, blotting out the already darkened room.
Within minutes Nick heard the clank of the lock being snipped and the door to his office thrust open. Several pairs of footsteps moved in all directions. They were looking for Joe. Well, all they’d get was him, and it served the idiots right for accusing Brad and Joe of having anything to do with murder.
The door to the back room flew open, connecting with the wall in the resounding crash that rattled the windows. Nick flinched a little, but lay silent, unmoving. He heard the men moving around, sensed more than saw their puzzled expressions. He snorted inwardly. He should’ve been an actor. He missed his calling.
Nick felt a hand shake him. He let out a groan then rolled onto his stomach facing the wall. Before he had a chance to make himself comfortable, the cot turned over dumping him on the cold cement floor face down. Damn cop!
“What the fu—” Nick kept his movements exaggerated and clumsy. He brought both hands to his face and wiped mock sleep from his eyes. He sat up and stared at the shocked faces of the police as they realized they had the wrong man.
He dragged it out so that Joe could make a clean escape. With a snide grin, Nick gave them his most satisfied smirk he asked, “You guys have a problem with a guy sleeping it off in his own place of business?”
Gotcha!
***
Christine looked up over Brad’s shoulder as he guided the motorcycle down the dirt road, a rooster tail of dust drifting behind them.
He pulled up to an older cabin-like country home.
She reluctantly relinquished her hold on him and climbed off the bike as he shut off the motor, then set the stand in place.
Brad stepped away from the bike and removed his helmet. The front door of the cabin opened and a man, an older version of Brad, stepped out onto the wrap-around porch. He grinned, Brad's grin. This had to be his grandfather.
Her gaze returned to Brad. His eyes softened, the expression on his face was pure pleasure mixed with a sort of coming home joy. Relief?
“Well, well. The prodigal.” The old man chuckled softly.
“Hey Gramps? Thought I’d come for a visit.”
The old man eyed Brad then Christine. He raised an eyebrow and nodded before his assessing attention refocused on his grandson.
Christine hid a smile. The old man wasn't born yesterday and if he was anything like Brad, he'd be the first to point it out.
“I don’t think so son, but nice try. Now, how about coming inside and we'll get at the truth?”
Christine stifled a snicker.
Brad lowered his head, partly from embarrassment if the pinking of his cheeks was any indication. And, if she read him right, partly to hide the amused expression on his face. His grandfather obviously knew him well. He shook his head as he looked up, saying, “Never could pull anything over on you, could I?”
“Nope!” He winked at Christine.
She smiled at him. It was easy to see where Brad got his good looks, his height and expressive eyes. She'd bet Brad's father had the same good looks, the same strong jaw, full mouth and thick head of hair. Good genes didn't pass by these guys.
Brad stared up at his grandfather, who stood there on his porch, feet spread about a foot apart, hands tucked into the pockets of his overalls. “How do you manage to do that to me every single time?”
“Do what?”
“Know my every thought.”
“That’s easy. I know you like I know m’self. You don’t do anything without purpose. So, what’s the real reason you’re here?” He motioned for them to join him. “Come on in. Get cleaned up. Relax a bit. I'll fix lunch and we'll talk.”
“Are you sure you don't mind us being here? We're not exactly—” Brad let the sentence hang mid-air.
His grandfather’s eyes piercing deep inside of him.
“Wouldn’t have anything to do with that ridiculous news report I saw this morning, would it?”
Brad shrugged a shoulder and rubbed his stubbly chin. With his best hand-in-the-cookie-jar grin, the one that saved his butt on many occasions when he got caught in the middle of mischief and Grandma Jean came to his aid, he answered, “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“Well, instead of standing around here like a couple of strangers, why don’t you give your ole Gramps a hug and introduce me to the beautiful gal next to you.”
He didn’t need to be asked twice. Brad took the stairs two at a time and embraced the old man in a bear hug. The comfort he gained in his grandfather's hug infused him with a sense of coming home, a feeling he'd never dreamed would be possible again after leaving the hill, embarrassed and disgraced.
Brad stepped back from his grandfather joined Christine. She had to be as stiff as he was after the long trip. He wrapped a protective arm around her and helped her tentatively up the steps to meet the man who'd raised him.
“Gramps, I’d like you to meet Christine Jansen. Chris, this is my grandfather, Brady Maxwell.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir.”
“Pardon me Chris? But there’s no ‘sir’ around here. Just call me Brady.”
“Brady, then.” She reached out to shake his hand.
“Now, how ‘bout you tellin’ me what you're doin’ with this rascally grandson of mine?”
“You know, I keep asking myself that very same question.” Her gaze remained glued to Brad’s. “The best I can come up with is that I just can’t stay away from a dangerous man. Must be insanity.” Christine couldn't contain her smile when the smiling gent let out a belly laugh, then pulled her into a bear hug.
Christine was aware Brad hadn't missed the wink she'd given his grandfather. The older man was amazing. She'd just met Brady moments ago and she could feel the chemistry developi
ng between them. Friends, comrades with one single goal, to help Brad out of this mess. She glanced at Brad.
His expressive face changed to something warm and soft and something else, as if he was grateful they were both on his side. A sense of respect and strength flowed through her from Brad and lessened her fears. They'd beat this ugly animal following in their wake.
Together.
***
Down at headquarters, Nick sat on one side of an old wooden table in the interrogation room. On the opposite side of the table sat Captain Van Norton stood at attention while Detective Fletcher paced the room, anger pinching his face.
Captain Roberts entered the room looking mad as a hornet. He shoved one hand into his jacket pocket. He surveyed the room before taking a seat opposite Nick. Roberts had barely been seated when Fletcher stopped beside Nick and shook a finger in his face.
“Look you low-life, I know Joe Gallagher was at your place. I don’t know how he got away, but he did and I think you helped him.”
Nick slouched hanging his arm over the back of the chair still, wearing his wrinkled clothes and sipping at a cup of lousy, tepid coffee. “No, you look, Dick Tracy. Gallagher dropped his car off yesterday for me to fix. He’s got a problem with the master cylinder. I told him we were swamped and that it would have to wait a couple of days, that’s why I moved it into the back storage garage.”
“Okay that explains Gallagher’s car being there, but where is he?” Fletcher asked.
Nick waved a dismissive hand. “How the hell should I know? I’m not his social secretary, I’m a mechanic.”
Fletcher slapped his hand on the table, “Listen asshole, if you’re covering for those two renegade cops, then you’re in as much trouble as they are.”
“Lay off Fletcher, that’s an order!” Captain Roberts interjected. “You’re not in charge of this interrogation, we are. Either you shut up and settle down or get out? What’ll it be?”
