by Diana Palmer
They had, at least, given Mary a blanket to wrap over her long T-shirt. She sat glaring at Curt from accusing dark eyes as they occupied opposite ends of a long bunk.
“It smells like people threw up in here,” she remarked angrily.
“No doubt,” he replied. “This is the drunk tank.”
“I’m not drunk!”
“Neither am I, but why else would we be running around the neighborhood in the dark in our pajamas?”
“Because of your dog!” she exclaimed.
“He isn’t mine. He’s my mother’s dog.”
“She can explain to the police,” she began.
“She sleeps like the dead. She won’t wake up until nine, and then she’ll wonder why I’m not in the house.”
“Maybe your dog,” she emphasized gleefully, “will go and howl in her ear.”
“Not unless he can open doors,” he said with a sigh. He looked down at himself. “This is not going to look good on my record.”
Her eyes were gleaming thoughtfully. “I’m going to tell them you were looking for a flying saucer,” she said sweetly. “I’m going to tell them you saw an alien and were chasing it!”
“You wouldn’t dare!” he exclaimed.
“Stand and watch me, Russell!” she shot back, pulling her blanket closer. “First you accuse me of raising marijuana and then you try to back into my car, and then you have your dog howl all night so I can’t sleep the night before the most important case of my…career…. Oh, no!” She put a hand to her mouth and her eyes opened wider. “I have to be in court at nine, to prosecute a drug trafficker. The judge will level contempt charges if I don’t show up! And here I sit. With you,” she added with absolute disgust.
“It’s a minor misunderstanding,” he pointed out. “As soon as Jack arrives, we’ll get out of here and everything will be fine.”
“What if he doesn’t show up?” she groaned.
“Just be patient,” he admonished. “He’ll be here soon.”
Jack did arrive shortly, smiling blissfully, and he had company. The local newspaper had an ace photographer with a maniacal sense of humor. He’d been working late in the darkroom at the newspaper office and Jack picked him up on the way, along with his camera. And before either of the perpetrators could open their mouths, they were photographed in their indecent state.
“There,” the photographer said with a grin. “Recorded for posterity. How will I caption this? Let’s see, ace FBI agent and rising prosecutor frolic in suburban neighborhood at midnight with mysterious red dog!”
“You can say it must be some sort of Druid ritual,” the police chief said helpfully. “They could be part of a cult…”
“Get me the hell out of here!” Curt demanded.
Mary stood up beside him, disheveled hair and flaming eyes. “That goes double for me! I’ve got a case in court in Lanier County at nine! An important case!”
The chief studied her bare legs and fluffy slippers thoughtfully. “Gosh, what an impression you’re going to make on Judge Wills.”
“I’ll promise him a basket of tomatoes!” she said haughtily.
“He’ll throw them at you, if you turn up in his courtroom looking like that,” he pointed out with a chuckle. “Okay, Harry,” he told the photographer. “We’ve had our fun. You can show them your camera now.”
The photographer opened the back of the camera. It wasn’t loaded. Curt and Mary gave him a vicious glare as the jailer opened the cell with a grin and let them out.
“But no more midnight flits,” the chief admonished. “I hate being hauled out of bed when I’ve only been asleep two hours.”
“I’m sorry,” Curt muttered. “The dog was howling and then she came over—” he pointed an accusing finger at Mary “—and flaunted her body at me. While I was staring at her, the dog escaped, and we had to run him down…”
The chief held up a hand. “I’ve heard it all before,” he said with a bored expression. “Just don’t do it again.” He glanced at Mary. “Flaunting yourself at FBI agents again, huh, Mary?”
She kicked him in the shin, turned, and stormed out into the main part of the station, where several officers were drinking coffee. They turned and stared.
“It’s a T-shirt!” she raged.
They only shrugged.
She was out the door when she realized that it was a long walk home and she didn’t have transportation. In her present state, she wasn’t going to get far without trouble.
Curt, who was thinking the same thing, strode past the officers with a superior grin. He had a great physique, and he knew it. Some of the officers standing around were long married and had what was affectionately and colloquially called “dunlap’s disease” (short for the rural Southern phrase, “his belly done lapped over his britches”). He marched out the front door just ahead of Jack, looking as if he’d won a contest.
“Going somewhere?” Curt asked Mary.
“Home, when I can thumb a ride.” She gave him a hard look. “At least they gave me a blanket,” she added, pulling it closer.
He chuckled. “I don’t want one.” He stood taller. “With a body like this, why hide my obvious assets?”
She lifted her foot, and he moved quickly out of range. Thorns were painful enough, without an angry foot in his shin to add to his discomfort. But she was a delight to tease.
“You’ll still have to hunt down your dog asset,” she said wickedly.
“With any luck,” he told her, “he’ll be back in his own home by the time I get to the house.”
“If you two want a ride, hurry up,” Jack called to them from his car. “I’m sleepy!”
They were somewhat discouraged to discover that the photographer was also hitching a ride, but he sat in the front seat and didn’t say a word the whole way home.
“Here you are,” Jack told them, pulling up in the street between their respective houses. “From now on, stay off the streets at midnight. My men only followed regulations by arresting you.” He gave them both a long look and shook his head. “This used to be such a peaceful little town,” he lamented, and powered up his window before they could reply.
They watched him drive off. It was light against the horizon. They’d spent hours at the police station.
“I don’t suppose there’s much use in trying to go back to sleep,” Mary said on a sigh. She glared at Curt. “Thanks to you, I’ll probably fall asleep in the middle of my summation.”
“If you can wrap up that sort of prosecution in one day, I’ll eat your blanket,” Curt assured her.
She grimaced. “It will take three or four,” she agreed. She studied him for a minute and then smiled helplessly. “I guess we did look odd.”
He grinned. “Druidic rituals,” he murmured. “I’ll have to remember and tell the guys about that one.”
“No need. I’m sure Hardy Vicks will tell everybody the minute he hears about it.” She frowned. “Why do you have a dog? Your mother says she’s never had pets. Aren’t you allergic?”
“No, my father was. The dog parked itself in the driveway and refused to move. She adopted it.”
“Yes, but where did it come from?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I have no idea.” He looked toward his house. The lights were on. He frowned.
Just as he was wondering why the lights were on, the front door opened, and there stood his mother with the dog.
“So there you are!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing in the middle of the street in your pajamas with Mary? Come to think of it, Mary, why are you in the middle of the street in a blanket?”
Mary turned without another word and darted across the street and into her house, which she’d left unlocked. Curt sighed and went up the driveway to try to explain the night to his mother. The dog watched him the whole way, wagging its tail.
CHAPTER THREE
The next afternoon, Curt waited for Mary to come home and get comfortable before he left his mother—and the dog—and went over to ta
lk to her.
She answered the front door when he rang, but she looked disturbed.
“Something wrong? Besides the obvious?” he added.
“Come on in.” She led him to the kitchen and poured him a cup of coffee. “Your mother says you like it black,” she added when she put it down and sat down to her own cup lightened with cream. “Listen, when I got home last night, somebody had gone through my kitchen and carried off a loaf of bread and some luncheon meat.”
“Didn’t you lock your door?”
She glared at him.
He held up a hand and smiled sheepishly.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I was too tired to call the police again, so I checked the house and locked up and went back to sleep for a couple of hours. I was going to go out back and look for sign when you came up just now.”
“I’ll go with you,” he offered. He sipped coffee. “When I was in the Secret Service, I worked a federal case in cooperation with other government agencies. One had an agent who was Lakota. He taught me to read sign and speak sign language. It was interesting.”
“Lakota?” she asked curiously.
“Sioux.”
“Oh.” She studied his lean face. “Don’t you have Cherokee blood?” she asked abruptly.
He nodded. “My grandfather is on the Dawes Roll—one of the numbered records of all the Cherokee people on the reservation in North Carolina.”
“So you’re one-quarter Cherokee?” she persisted.
“Thereabouts.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Danish and Scotch,” she said.
“That explains the blond hair.”
“You should see my dad,” she told him. “He’s six foot four and blond and blue-eyed!” She studied him covertly. “How long ago did your father die?” she asked suddenly.
“I was six. My mother woke up and found him dead in the bed beside her,” he said matter-of-factly. “I don’t remember him very well.”
“That must have been hard on her, raising you alone,” Mary commented.
He toyed with his coffee cup. “It was, but she did a good job. She was a newspaperwoman. I always knew who the bad guys were, where they lived, what they did. She was a fountain of information. She seemed to know everybody, and there were always law enforcement people around. I guess that’s why I majored in criminal justice in college.”
“She’s quite a lady.”
“Yes. She is.”
She finished her coffee. “Well, let’s see how well you track.”
He gave her an amused glance, because she didn’t seem to believe he could. He was disposed to prove it.
They went to the back of the lot and he became another person. He stood very still, just observing the lay of the land, the possible paths from the kitchen, the dryness of the soil from lack of rain. He interposed memories of where the police chief had walked, where he’d walked, where Mary had walked when she’d pulled up the poppies.
“I, uh, noticed the new tomato plants,” she said, disturbing his concentration. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Stay here.”
He moved forward at a slow pace, his eyes narrowed as he stopped now and again to stoop or squat and study the ground and the plants. He moved steadily toward the outbuilding at the back of the lot, but he stopped and made a sudden turn toward the street a minute later.
“Someone went through there!” he called to her. “Back toward the street!”
She went to join him and they moved onto the pavement and went back up the road toward her house with Curt obviously studying the grass on both sides of the sidewalk.
He motioned to her to stoop down beside him while he pointed at the ground.
“That’s an ant,” she pointed out. “Is he speaking to you?”
“Keep your voice down. Nod, as if you’re agreeing with me. I think we’re being watched.” She nodded.
“There’s someone who has been staying in your outbuilding,” he said under his breath, “and he’s been there for several days. There are paths so obvious that even that haywire photographer could follow them.”
“That explains the raid on my kitchen,” she said, equally low-voiced. “We should call the police!”
He gave her a hard glare. “I am the police. Federal police.”
“Yes, but it’s not your jurisdiction,” she argued.
“I’m now assigned to this district,” he retorted. “Why do you think I was reporting to the district office in Lanier County in the first place? I’m starting there after my vacation.”
She whistled softly. “What a comedown from Austin, Texas,” she taunted. “Whose feet did you step on?”
“Never mind,” he muttered. “I’ve got to go see Jack. You can come, too.” He had an idea of who was hiding in the barn. It was the government witness. They were in no danger, but it was better to get Mary out of the thick of things, anyway.
“I’ve got notes to prepare. I’m in the middle of a trial,” she began.
“I’m not leaving you here by yourself with some fugitive hanging around!” he told her firmly, with flashing dark eyes. “If you don’t like that, tough!”
She was torn between protesting that she could take care of herself and agreeing that she wasn’t equipped to handle a lawbreaker—she didn’t even have a firearm.
“If I were in your position, Mary,” he said, using her given name for the first time, “I wouldn’t argue. Attorneys represent the law, they don’t enforce it.”
She gave in gracefully. “Okay. You win. But I’ll need my briefcase and my laptop.”
“We’ll go in and get them.” He stood up and walked back the way they’d come.
“Hadn’t we’d better search the barn for clues first?” Mary asked.
“No,” he said after a minute. “I’m in no position to apprehend him, if he is in there now. And I don’t want to disturb anything or mess up clues. I tracked him to the street, I’m sure he’s gone. Come on. You can ride into town with me. I’ll come back with the police later to search for clues.”
They went to Mary’s house, where she packed up her gear and changed into neat gray slacks and a white sleeveless turtleneck knit shirt before she joined Curt in the living room.
“He’ll get away, and we’ll be blamed,” she pointed out.
He shook his head. “I think he was watching us. He’ll assume we’re brainless and clear up his trail until the police search the barn. Then he’ll come back, feeling safe.”
“You’d better hope you’re right,” she muttered.
“You don’t know how I’m hoping,” he replied with a smile.
The smile startled her. It made her feel giddy inside. She smiled back, feeling stupid.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-seven.” She looked at him curiously. “Ever been married?”
He shook his head. “Too busy. You?”
“Yes,” she said surprisingly. “When I was eighteen. My folks couldn’t talk any sense into me, so they gave in. He was eighteen, too, very mature for his age. I was spoiled and stubborn and I never gave an inch. I drove him nuts. We hadn’t been married six months when he filed for divorce. We’re still friends,” she added quickly. “He’s married and has a nice little family.”
“What does he do?” he asked, unaccountably jealous.
She looked sheepish. “He’s a football coach at his local high school.”
“I hate football,” he remarked.
She laughed. “So do I. That was part of the problem. It was his whole life.”
He shook his head. “How about winter sports?” he asked as they went out the front door.
“Ice skating and downhill racing,” she volunteered.
“Great! I love winter sports!”
She grinned at him. It was like a beginning.
They told Jack what they’d found out at Mary’s house.
“Any idea who the fugitive is?” he asked Curt.
“Gee,
let me think,” Curt said facetiously. “There’s a federal witness hiding out up here, his cousin lives two doors down from Mary, and somebody’s living in Mary’s barn. Who could it be?”
Jack gave him a look of disgust.
“He’s with the FBI,” Mary reminded Jack. “You have to make allowances.”
“The problem is, I didn’t rush him,” Curt continued. “I don’t know that he’s armed, but his connections usually are, and he comes from a shady background. Mary was with me.”
That was enough to give Jack the impression that Curt wasn’t putting the woman at risk.
“We don’t risk civilians, Miss Ryan,” Jack told her, just to make the point.
“I’m not exactly a civilian,” she pointed out.
“You are as far as I’m concerned,” Curt interjected. “Why don’t you go and work on your case?” He turned to Jack. “Have you got a place where she can plug in her laptop while we talk?”
“Sure. Hey, Ben!”
One of the policemen stuck his head in the door. “Yes, Chief?”
“Take Miss Ryan to Don’s office and let her use his desk. He won’t be in today.”
“Yes, sir. Come with me, Miss Ryan.”
Curt wanted to ask if Ryan was her married name, but he didn’t have the opportunity. She went with the policeman and they were talking about computers all the way out the door.
Curt waited until Ben closed the door behind them before he leaned forward.
“The guy’s name is Abe Hunt,” Curt told the police chief. “He’s got a rap sheet as long as my arm. Mary’s got guts, but she’s no match for a guy the size of Hunt should he pull some stunt. He’s built like a professional wrestler. In fact, he did some wrestling in his past. We’ve got to get this guy out of her barn.”
“The trick is, if we chase him out of there, where will he go? Not to his cousin’s. He’s not that stupid, is he?”
Curt shook his head. “His cousin took a powder out of town. But, even though the house is empty now, no, he’s not stupid. But he is desperate. He doesn’t want the mob to find him any more than he wants us to. It’s going to be a cat and mouse game all the way.”
