“Sorry I’m such dead weight for you.” He grimaced at her and leaned against the wall while she unfolded his chair.
“I don’t appreciate your terminology. It’s my job to see to it that neither of us gets dead. Now take a load off, and wait for me to return for you.” She pointed to the wheelchair.
Scowling, Chris plunked into the chair. Ornery, bossy female. His glance took in her feet. Lovely feet. Not dainty—too big for that—but gracefully formed. “They’re bare.”
“What?” She shot him a sharp look as her hand gripped the doorknob.
He pointed, and she looked down then rippled both sets of elegant toes.
Her gaze took on the barest hint of humor. “No one ever said you were a slouch in the observation department. I couldn’t stand those shoes pinching my feet. I’ll grab the electronics from our room, but the torture devices can stay behind. If I’m not back in two minutes flat, do whatever you need to do to get yourself and that video out of this hotel.”
“You’ll be back.”
She jerked a nod at him and was gone. Chris waited, listening. The distant clomp-clomp of heavy strides and sounds of sharp voices, muffled and indistinct, carried to him over the whoosh of his pulse in his ears. None of the noises came from floor five outside the stairwell door.
Please, God, give Maddie clear sailing, and bring her back to me swiftly and safely.
He twiddled his fingers against the chair arms. The two minutes had stretched into at least five. Call him insubordinate, but he wasn’t budging. Maddie had to return to him. Any other outcome was unacceptable.
A feminine scream rent the air, then abruptly stilled. Chris’s heart attempted a flying leap out his mouth. That sound had come from the fifth floor. Sharp pains shot up his arms, and he looked down. The bones of his hands stood out white beneath his skin as he clutched the arms of the chair. He willed his fingers to unclench.
A patter of running feet approached the stairwell. Friend or foe? Chris’s gaze raked the area for a potential weapon. He surged from the chair, snatched the fire extinguisher from its case on the wall and raised it over his head. Saving the situation—and Maddie—was up to him now. A ferocity he’d never known swept through him. No one was going to hurt Madeleine Jerrard if he could help it.
A female figure surged through the door and plowed into him, slamming him into the wall. Fiery pain speared up his injured leg, and he lost his hold on the fire extinguisher. The woman caught the plummeting canister in the crook of one arm an instant before it would have clattered to the floor. She gazed up at him with raised eyebrows and a bemused grin.
“Good idea, but if you want to clobber someone you need to stand to one side of the door, not in front of it.”
“Maddie! I thought something happened to you. I heard—”
“—the assistant manager’s scream. Thumbnail version, while I was in the bathroom collecting that camcorder, someone came in. I hopped into the bathtub and hid behind the bullet-torn curtain. Thankfully, I’d shut off the water, but man, that tub was cold on the bottoms of my bare feet. I heard a female voice muttering about her boss getting all worked up over a pair of old-fogey toilet paper thieves, and then a sharp gasp, then silence. Evidently, the bullet-hole carnage froze her in shock. I couldn’t wait for her to call for help, so I popped out from behind the Swiss cheese curtain, and there she was, staring straight at me. She let out one shriek at my sudden lunge in her direction and melted onto the carpet in a stone-cold faint.”
Maddie set the fire extinguisher down and shoved their black overnight case into his arms. “I got everything and then some.” She flashed a thin, rectangular object in his face. “Now the assistant manager’s master key card is going to get us out of this joint by accessing the kitchen through the Employees Only service elevator. I doubt the cooks will do more than frown at a pair of senior citizens taking a shortcut, and I double doubt the kitchen staff has been alerted to watch for escaping toilet-paper thieves.”
A long breath gusted from Chris, and his muscles turned to Silly Putty. They might actually get out of there in one piece—minus handcuffs. He sank onto the wheelchair seat. Maddie pulled open the stairwell door and dragged the chair through it. She whipped him around, and Chris glimpsed a few people gathered outside their rented room. From the uncertainty of their milling, they were likely hotel guests who’d heard the scream.
“Call 9-1-1,” a man said to someone else.
None of them spared Maddie and him a glance as she wheeled his chair sedately up a hallway perpendicular to the crisis. The late hour was such that the passage was empty. Maddie whisked him to the staff service elevator and swiped the assistant manager’s card. Chris held his breath as the elevator door whooshed open, but it, too, was blessedly empty. The hour was late for housekeepers to be riding up and down—even rather late for much room service to be going on, though the bar and supper club on the first floor were likely doing booming business.
“Punch in the button for the kitchen,” Maddie directed him, and he complied.
The elevator descended and then the door dinged open on the muted pandemonium of a busy restaurant kitchen. Surprised faces and a few dark glances followed them as they glided through the area, but no one seemed inclined to interrupt their tasks to question a pair of senior citizens taking a shortcut to the back door. Apparently, Maddie was right; the cooks and waitstaff had not been made aware that gray-haired toilet-paper thieves were on the loose in the building. Chris stifled a grin.
At last, they burst free of the hotel into a back alley ripe with kitchen garbage. He pinched his nose shut as Maddie trotted them clear of the stench and onto the sidewalk. Traffic on the street was steady but not brisk.
“I hope you have a good idea about where we can go to ground,” she said, “until we decide who to approach with what we’ve got.”
Chris stroked his chin. “In good conscience, we can’t involve Bonita further.”
“Agreed. Besides, it’s unwise to keep returning to the same location. We’re bound to get caught that way.”
He hugged the leather case containing the cameras to his chest. “Hail us a cab that will take us to a public telephone. I’m going to call in a major favor that I’ve left dangling out there for a life-and-death situation. I guess this is it.”
“No kidding, Sherlock.”
Chris clamped his lips shut. He’d hold off as long as possible on telling her who he meant to call. When she found out, her suspicions of him would be confirmed, and he’d be rated the biggest louse on the planet. He might not even live long enough to explain.
THIRTEEN
“Why didn’t you think to warn me before I climbed into this limo that your super-contact swooping in to save us is David Greene?” Bile burned the back of Maddie’s throat.
She glared at Chris, who sat with his face pointed toward the panel of tinted glass that separated them from the chauffeur. Could the driver hear what the passengers said? If so, he was getting an earful.
“The spoiled brat of an oil magnate murdered his girlfriend and hasn’t been charged with a thing. Some savory company you keep!”
No wonder she’d had the jitters about getting into the long white vehicle that showed up for them at the all-night convenience store. At the time, she felt she didn’t have any choice but to trust the man who sat beside her, but now that she’d badgered their benefactor’s identity out of him, a bad case of second thoughts didn’t begin to describe her reaction.
Throbbing fingers of heat spread through her rib cage. She’d been right to cling to her suspicions about Chris. The burn spread upward and stung the backs of her eyes. Why did being proved right tempt her toward tears? She ought to be pleased that her judgment was sound, even if the same couldn’t be said of her heart. And why didn’t Chris say anything? Couldn’t defend himself, that’s why. Her hands balled into
fists. Anyone who could place a call to a murdering snake and have said reptile’s limo come right out from his Laredo estate and pick them up within minutes couldn’t be on the same planet as trustworthy.
Chris turned his head toward her, expression stoic in the soft glow of a thin overhead transom light. Or was that a hint of sorrow in the slight downturn of his mouth? Too bad. If she wasn’t determined to stay out of jail long enough to nail the hides of certain government coyotes to the wall, she’d call a halt to this vehicle and walk away right now.
“Good thing you’re not a dragon, or I’d be fried to ashes,” Chris said. “I was half expecting to be throttled by now.”
“Don’t think the idea hasn’t crossed my mind.”
Chris winced. “I can’t control what you want to believe about me, but don’t believe everything you hear in the media.”
“Huh? Amazing statement coming from a media icon.”
She stuck her nose inches from his. It was the only way she could read his eyes in this dimness. The blue depths were hard and earnest, but a little desperate, too. Or was it guilty? Her stomach soured.
“Do you think David believes what he’s heard about us?” Chris’s question emerged bold and staccato.
“Are you telling me that you know for a fact that Greene didn’t kill that poor woman?”
“I’m telling you there’s more to the story.”
“So now you’re a Paul Harvey wannabe?”
“No, Harvey said ‘the rest of the story.’ I guess that line works in David’s case, too. Reserve your judgment until you meet him.”
Maddie subsided against the butter-soft leather seat and crossed her arms tight to her chest. “Too late for that. And who says I want to meet him? What he did was vile.”
“Agreed.”
“See?” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “You admit he did it. And you admit you’re his friend, anyway.”
An audible gust of air left Chris’s nose, and his hands closed around his kneecaps. “I won’t argue with you on either count...neither will he.” The final three words emerged in the barest whisper.
Sad words, yes, but flavored with an odd dash of hope. What should she make of that? She rolled her jaw, attempting to form a coherent sentence, but nothing came together. How could her wayward heart flirt with loving anyone who had done enough for a creep like David Greene to make him beholden on the level of harboring nationally wanted fugitives? There would never be enough explanation to make that picture acceptable. No wonder she couldn’t decide if she wanted to toss her cookies or toss Chris over the nearest bridge into the Rio.
Maddie turned her face toward the side window and the blackness of night that erased the flat landscape and mirrored her mood. At least they’d left the glare of the city behind. Greene had a ranch somewhere out in the boonies where Chris and she could hide and heal and decide what the next step might be. He was after his precious story, but she was after justice. Okay, so she’d keep on working with him in order to achieve her goal, but that was it. If she was able to turn the tables on him and sweep him into the net with the rest of the traitors, she’d do it. He didn’t deserve his big story.
But why did the thought of Chris disgraced and jailed wring her heart like a string mop? A deep ache pulsed between her eyebrows. Muscles up and down her body throbbed—a natural consequence of tumbling top over tail out of a fast-moving car not so many hours ago. Fatigue weighted her limbs, and her empty belly twisted itself into a hard knot. But the food contained in the compact refrigerator in the passenger compartment held no appeal.
She leaned her head back into the plush seat. “How long until we reach this Panhandle ranch of his?”
“We should see it by sunup.”
She closed her eyes. Fat chance she could sleep, but she’d try to rest while she didn’t have anything else to do. That’s how a good soldier behaved—grab downtime when the opportunity came. The vehicle was so soundproof even the hum of tires on tarmac didn’t reach her ears. Just Chris’s breathing. Soft. Steady.
Her idiot heart prodded her to curl up against him. How long had it been since she’d had anyone just hold her for no reason except comfort? A long time ago. When she was a small child maybe? Her military family had never been extravagant in the hug department. They’d shown love in different ways. Encouragement. Respect. Pats on the back. Maddie hadn’t known she missed being held...until Chris. He’d ruined her. The rat. Now she’d always be looking for what she could never have.
God, I don’t know how to get through this, loving the man I hate. Please, help me.
It had been nearly forever since she’d asked the Lord for something for herself. Jerrards were trained to be self-sufficient. She didn’t know what she’d expected when she reached toward Him with her heart, but this nothingness was probably about what she had coming when her fury over events at the Rio extended to Him, too. A long, soundless sigh exhaled through her entire body, and her muscles went slack. Warm weightlessness enfolded her. Yes, she’d rest a little. Not sleep, but—
“We’re here.” Chris’s voice penetrated Maddie’s consciousness, along with his pat on her arm.
She jerked awake and sat up. She’d slept? No doubt for hours. Unbelievable!
Maddie shook herself and peered out the tinted glass window of the limousine. A man’s torso blocked her view, and she hissed in a breath. The door opened, and the chauffeur stood back, admitting a rush of warm, mesquite-scented breeze and the blush of dawn dusting the outside world.
“Welcome to Cross D Ranch,” he said.
Maddie attempted to extend her limbs to climb out of the car, but her muscles responded with a burst of outrage. A groan left her lips, and a stifled chuckle from Chris teased her ears.
“A bit stiff this morning? Join the club. If I can down a couple more painkillers and get this foot iced and up, I’ll be happy as a mustang in tall grass.”
Maddie glanced over her shoulder toward Chris’s swollen ankle. It hadn’t been tended since yesterday morning and must be giving him fits, but he’d never said anything. At least the guy wasn’t a whiner. Not that the pain in his ankle had anything on the festering ache in her soul. Desperation time. She had to find relief...some resolution between her thoughts and her emotions, or she’d be worthless for the confrontations that lay ahead. But she’d been carted off to the worst possible place to find anything resembling peace of mind.
“If Greene can provide accommodations for folks like us,” she said, “I’d be surprised if he can’t wrangle medical attention for you. We’re still not sure about the extent of the damage—torn ligaments, broken bones, etc.”
“We’ll be well looked after.” Chris spoke with quiet assurance.
By a murderer? Not the kind of help Maddie had the slightest interest in accepting, but she swallowed an angry answer. No point in further protest. They were here now.
Gritting her teeth against another groan, she pulled herself out of the vehicle and took a couple of steps forward. Before them, a long-bodied, single-story ranch house sprawled in sturdy grace across a neatly trimmed lawn. The grass was too green not to be watered regularly, but the irrigation system was well hidden. Nice digs, but within the ordinary range. Not as extravagant as she’d expected for a wealthy man’s property.
“You can go on in, ma’am,” said the chauffeur from behind her. “We fellows will bunk in the south wing. You can have the run of the north side of the house. I think you’ll find everything you need there, except a kitchen. My apologies, but we’ll all have to share that room, ma’am.”
Maddie turned toward the driver. “Thank y—” Words stalled on her tongue as her gaze collided with his.
The man looked to be in his early thirties. He was of medium height and built sinewy, like a marathon runner. Not classically handsome, but arresting with that square chin, rugged cheekbone
s and coal-black hair curling around his ears. His piercing eyes were the color of fog on the ocean. She knew that face from frequent media exposure.
“Hi, David.” Chris’s tall form struggled to win free of the vehicle.
“Good to see you, Chris.” Their driver bent and helped his friend into a standing position. “I could wish for better circumstances.”
Stock-still, Maddie gaped after them as one man helped the other hobble up the sidewalk, tackle the porch steps and disappear into the house. Neither of them awarded her another word or look. The brisk slap of the screen door after them jerked her out of paralysis.
Fine.
If segregation ruled their stay here, she was more than happy to accommodate. When she was good and ready to plan their next move, she’d have to meet with Chris. They had obtained valuable footage, but using it to best effect would require thought. Hopefully, in the meantime their host would get the hint and vacate the premises. For right now, she needed space to decompress.
Maddie marched into the house and found the north end exactly as the owner had described—everything she needed and then some. Across a bed half the size of Texas, someone had laid out several pairs of jeans, a few T-shirts and some serviceable intimate apparel that would fit her decently. She would have had the willies about the clothes perhaps belonging to the murdered girlfriend, but the tags were still on. A gajillionaire probably had tons of employees he could order out shopping in the middle of the night for surprise guests, but whoever had bought the clothing didn’t seem to be around. Good move. The fewer people who met the guests, the better for everyone.
She spent the first hour in a hot, scented whirlpool tub that soaked away the lion’s share of her aches and pains. Then she donned a satiny robe and padded up the hall toward the kitchen across carpet that nearly swallowed her bare feet. Male voices were retreating from the shared area, so she pattered over a shiny tile floor to the refrigerator and found the fixings for a massive sandwich, as well as a soda to wash it down.
Betrayal on the Border Page 14
