“That’s stupid, and so was your prank.”
“You’re right. It was just something a little nuts to break the tension.”
She looked at him. “This will help—they found Anders’s body.”
He took the news in stunned silence. In his expression, she thought she saw a strange mixture of sadness and relief, but she couldn’t tell for sure. All she did know was that the judgment day was now rushing towards them.
“Come on.”
He picked up a metal flask wrapped in canvas. He also showed her a Tupperware container.
“Provisions for the outlaw trail, from Hazel. Homemade plum brandy and roast-beef sandwiches. Hazel warned the brandy is just for sipping when we’re cold.”
“I’ve had Hazel’s plum brandy before,” she confided. “If we need it, believe me, it’ll also run the Jeep.”
He chuckled, and nervousness made her wish she could say something else clever and light. But nothing occurred to her. Fear made her go serious and brooding. Even the mention of brandy made her wonder about her judgment. The need she felt to believe in men—it was like an addiction. There were alcoholics, gambling-holics, even sex-aholics…why not trust-aholics? People addicted to being crushed beneath the shoes of another.
“We should get in the Jeep,” he suggested. “Hazel wants us to haul the moment we hear the commotion.”
Automatically, Constance started to open the driver’s door. Then she hesitated, watching Quinn move around the front of the Jeep, heading toward the passenger’s side.
She couldn’t make out his face in the shadowy old barn, fragrant with the strong odor of hay. And there was absolutely nothing odd about his suggestions.
But just look, a voice within argued, how you practically jump to carry out his every command. Without willing it, Roger Ulrick’s remarks about Quinn’s ability to “enthrall” women began to nettle her.
Don’t be stupid, she upbraided herself. Quinn isn’t some Transylvanian count with mesmeric powers.
He opened his door first, and the soft dome light winked on. She saw that Hazel had given him an old denim work coat and a pair of warm gloves.
Oh, we ladies do take care of him, don’t we….
“Something wrong?” he called over, watching her watch him. He looked ruggedly handsome in that muted light, but also shadowy and sinister.
She started to get in, then spotted an object on the floor behind her seat.
“What’s that?”
“You’re a country girl, and you have to ask?”
“I grew up a townie,” she informed him. “My dad owns the hardware store on Warren Street. Grandpa Adams started the store during the Depression.”
“I’m not sure what locals call it,” he said. “Just a hay hook, I think. They use them when they’re bailing hay to pick the bales up and toss them on the wagon. Anyway, I noticed you’ve got a winch and steel cable on the front of your Jeep. We might be able to use the hook if we get stuck up in the mountains.”
Good thinking on his part, she conceded.
But the curving steel hook made her shudder as she swung in behind the wheel and buckled her shoulder harness. The name Cody Anders wasn’t very far from her subconscious.
“It’s getting cold,” she complained, back teeth chattering.
“Start the engine and let the heater run. You should let the engine warm up, anyway. The signal comes any time now.”
“Is it safe inside a building?” she wondered. “What about carbon monoxide?”
“You kidding? This place is a cathedral, and besides, the doors are open at both ends. Crank it.”
Again, all logical enough suggestions. But her doubts made her overly sensitive about his motives. Or maybe it was just his snap-to-it tone.
“I’m not even driving yet,” she complained, “and you’re already barking orders. Typical male.”
“Blame it on our shrivelled chromosome,” he retorted lightly, refusing to engage in battle.
A few moments passed in silence, the only sound their breathing and the barn’s old joists groaning in the wind.
“Connie?”
“Yes?”
“Ask you something?”
“What?” Her tone was guarded.
“That look on your face when you first saw me wearing the clothes you gave me—obviously this guy was important to you once. Is that still the case?”
“Did I act like he is last night?” She hadn’t intended her tone to sound so harsh.
Evidently she succeeded in irking him. “Well, you didn’t cry out his name in bed, no.”
She slapped at him, only half-playing. It was a clumsy, silent, and silly gesture with gloves on.
When he spoke, she could hear the grin in his tone, “Don’t stop there—it’s starting to warm up in here.”
“Go to hell.”
“Yeah! Even warmer.”
Another thirty seconds or so ticked by in torturous silence.
“Hell with this,” he snapped out abruptly. “We made love just a few hours ago. Why are we acting like two spiteful kids?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed in a burst of candid misery.
It wasn’t clear who moved first, but a heartbeat later he wrapped her in a tight embrace and kissed her with hungry passion. She felt heat flood her entire body as he pressed her even tighter, exciting her, making her body ache for his.
Even as lust threatened to dash the last bastion of her defenses, she became aware of a sobering, nagging thought about earlier, with Stuart and Pamela Beals. That house represented a tidy commission. Yet, she had “faked” the entire presentation, distracted by ardent thoughts of this man she hardly knew. She was no longer the cold professional she thought she’d made herself into.
Torn between desire and doubt, she abruptly pushed him away.
“What is it?” He spoke only with difficulty, his own desire making him almost hoarse.
“I…we can’t get so carried away right now. The signal could come anytime.”
“Yeah,” he managed. “You’re right. This isn’t a hot date. Sorry.”
Another minute ticked by in unbearable silence. He must be able to hear my heart pounding, she thought—her pulse exploded in her ears so loudly she feared she’d never hear the planned distraction because of the unplanned ones.
She did hear it, though, and only moments after worrying about it. A vehicle clattered into the driveway out front, then boisterous voices filled the night—some of Hazel’s ranch hands, joshing each other as if returning from a good time in town.
Abruptly Constance heard a loud, flapping sound like a gas oven igniting. Fingers of bright orange light suddenly pushed into the barn from outside.
“Hey, the old Dodge is on fire!” somebody yelled. “Quick, boys, get the fire extinguisher from the bunkhouse!”
“Let’s go!” Quinn urged her.
Constance keyed the starter, shifted into first, and shot through the rear doors of the barn even as the racket intensified out front.
“Billings, here we come,” Quinn called out.
She concentrated on her driving as she followed the waist-high rock line fence across a vast, open meadow, barely visible in the cloud-mottled moonlight.
One of her last thoughts, as she turned east onto the old Summer Trail, was about the drive from her house to the Lazy M—and those headlights she’d spotted in the mirror.
It grew steadily colder as they ascended higher into the mountains. Soon the heater was blowing full-blast to keep them warm enough.
Constance left the lights off even after the Lazy M, and the valley floor, were well below them. Moonlight remained generous; when clouds interfered, she simply slowed down and relied on her memory of the Summer Trail’s serpentine twists and turns.
She concentrated on her driving, yet remained sharply aware of the man riding beside her. The doubts she had experienced, when they were kissing a little while ago, troubled her like a half-remembered dream.
“You�
��re doing a great job of driving,” he remarked at one point. “But don’t you think you could probably use your lights now?”
“I’d rather not until we’re off the western slopes.” She told him about the lights behind her on the way to Hazel’s. “If somebody glimpsed lights this high, they might figure out what’s happening.”
At one point, as she downshifted to climb a sharp upgrade, she misjudged the width of the trail; with a heart-sinking lurch, the left rear and front tires dropped into a narrow declivity.
“Oh, great,” she groaned, disgusted at herself. “No traction on two wheels. And look how steep this slope is.”
A wind gust buffeted the Jeep, and suddenly dark panic washed over her.
“Quinn, my God! It’s freezing out there, and we’re still miles from—”
“Just take it easy,” he cut her off, his voice confident. “When I give you the word, I want you to flip the toggle switch and turn the winch on. Then rev the engine good to keep it powered.”
He leaned behind her to get the grappling hook. Cold air sliced into her like a knife edge when Quinn got out and clambered up the slope until he found a strong rock spur and secured the hook. He returned to the front of the Jeep and unwound the half-inch steel cable connected to the winch.
“Hit it, Connie!” he called out after attaching the cable to the hook.
She had never once used the winch, had only bought it because her dad talked her into it. But now, as she felt the vehicle lifting back onto the slope, she reminded herself to give her dad a gigantic hug when she saw him.
“Good thinking,” she told Quinn when he got back in, shivering from the blustery cold. “From here, though, I better risk the lights.”
Snow started falling, lightly at first, then hard enough that she was forced to switch on the wipers. In the green glow of the dashboard lights, she sneaked sideways peeks at Quinn. He had fallen into a pensive silence.
“This evidence you need—” she remarked. “Will you be able to get your hands on it?”
“We should be okay if we…I mean, once we get to Billings. Thank God I don’t need to go to my apartment or my office. What I need is on a computer disk being kept in a safe-deposit box at the Mountain States National Bank on Third Street.”
He fell silent, her question the start of a whole new line of worrying.
If he was honest with himself, all he really had, at this stage, was an abstract pattern of guilt inferred from financial and phone records.
Beyond that problem, he also had to prove more than the money laundering. He had to prove he had extenuating reasons for his unlawful flight. In other words, he had to prove that he was the intended victim of a rubout, an attempt to kill him to ensure his silence.
Cody Anders was the key there. His disappearance proved a lot. But with Cody’s absent silence, Quinn’s reason for flight might be hard to prove. His innocence hung on finding Cody Anders’s body and the evidence it held.
Until that happened, he was probably screwed.
He glanced over at Connie, her pretty profile illumined by the dash lights.
Guilt set in as he realized at this point she was in almost as much danger as he was. A completely innocent woman leading a perfectly fine life, and he had to barge into it behind a facade of lies and veiled threats of violence.
But he had needed her, he still did. He shuddered to think where he would be right now without her. He would either have died of exposure in back of that cabin or been found there and arrested. But now what he felt for her was far deeper than gratitude—he had finally confirmed that when they made love. She was the kind of woman he’d been looking for all his life and never found. A woman of character and strength. A woman who grappled with the issues of right and wrong just like he did, but a woman who was willing to err on the side of right, even if the whole world sided against her.
He stared at her hard, fighting the notion that he was desperate to possess her, desperate to protect her.
She, and she alone, had kept his hopes alive these past few days. But he had no right to make such incredible demands of her. He, the son of criminals—and evidently a chip off the old cell block, judging from his behavior lately. Look how easily he had leaped across the line separating good citizen from criminal.
“Penny for your thoughts,” she said, her voice cutting into the silence.
“Hang on to your money,” he advised her, lapsing into grim silence once again.
She watched him, admonishing herself—he’s not thinking about us. He’s only worried about the trouble he’s in. You have not fallen in love with him.
Even the best Realtor, she reminded herself, can’t sell castles in the air.
You’ve simply mistaken your charged emotions, and the danger lately, for deeper feeling. That was dangerous, and she knew it. His need was transient, and she mustn’t build a tower of hopes that must inevitably come crashing down.
Quinn’s prolonged silence did nothing to allay her fears.
The steady sweep-and-click of the wipers soon formed a rhythm for the chant in his mind:
Quinn! Quinn!
He’s our man!
His ma ’n’ pa
Are in the slam!
Chapter 12
Constance had always been ambitious and competitive, but she dreaded performing under strict time urgency. Yet, they now faced it on two scores.
First they had to get down out of the mountains before bad weather locked them in. Even assuming they succeeded, they had only until tomorrow evening before the Jeep would be back on the mind of authorities.
Plenty of time, she assured herself. Even if driving conditions farther east were slow, Billings could be reached in eight or nine hours.
She didn’t ask herself, at this point, what would come after they made Billings. She felt like a soldier trying to cross through enemy fire, only searching desperately for the next object to hide behind.
“Looks like we’re almost out of the mountains,” Quinn remarked, ending a long silence between them. “I spotted a section of road down below. Looked like good blacktop.”
“It’s East County Line Road,” Constance informed him. “We’re out of Mystery Valley now, which means we’re also past the first roadblock.”
The mass of precipitation had not yet pushed over the mountains, but waited for them as they descended. Snow pelted them with more force, and there was some accumulation, though nothing the Jeep couldn’t handle.
“Here,” he said, “put this on. I’ll steer while you just put it on over your jacket. Not much of a fashion statement, but it’s just for now.”
“What is it?”
“The Kevlar vest that saved my life in Kalispell. See, that gives it powers as an amulet to ward off harm. It’s good luck now.”
“Good, then you wear it. I’m already lucky,” she told him. “I meet dangerous men and live a life of derring-do.”
“Thanks for the compliment, but humor me, okay?”
“Well…I always have wanted to wear one of those,” she admitted.
“Atta girl. It’s a little big for you, but your clothes under it will bulk you out. Here, I’ll steer while you put it on.”
It was a clumsy operation while driving, but she managed to wriggle into the surprisingly light and flexible vest.
The final stretch of the Summer Trail turned corkscrew, winding through a series of gullies washed red with eroded soil.
“Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t need this vest to figure something out by now.”
“That being…?”
“Most of the authorities only mean to arrest you, but there’s a few persons who want you….”
“More permanently removed,” he finished for her cheerfully.
“Yes. So if you were arrested, by honest authorities, I mean, couldn’t you still use your evidence in your defense?”
“Possibly, but see, it gets problematic if I’m arrested. Don’t forget, even if I’m legitim
ately busted, say by state troopers, that could still leave both of us high and dry. I’d never be able to bond out after running once. These guys would have no trouble arranging for an ‘accident’ while I’m rotting in jail. And then what about you?”
His hand cupped the back of her neck, the touch thrilling her and firing a quick surge of physical need.
But the next moment both of them were jostled hard when the Jeep plunged through a hard dip. County Line Road was only about five minutes away now, perhaps another few hundred feet lower.
He went on. “Even if they can snuff me, they’ll sweat over what you might know—what you might say.”
The implications of his remark made her heart speed up for a few moments. But again she reminded herself—the danger meant nothing to her if Quinn was innocent.
“So the best shot for both of us,” he added, “is to get this evidence of mine to an honest judge, establish probable cause for warrants, then get federal marshals to immediately raid the offices and homes of a few key players.”
Snow flew thicker now, and she switched the wipers to high speed. The Jeep began to level out as the slope ended. Two minutes and we’ll be on pavement, she rallied herself.
“Exactly who,” she asked him, “do you think actually ordered you…maybe even us killed? Ulrick?”
“That one’s got me treed,” he admitted. “Remember, I’m outside their inner circle, excluded from the power elite. It might just be understood among them, with no actual order being given. But I’d say the nod came from Dolph Merriday. Ulrick’s a wimp, but Merriday is strong-willed and he’s got national political ambitions. A felony prosecution would probably sink his hopes.”
“Why are you outside the inner circle?” she pressed.
“Hey, that wasn’t a complaint, just an observation.”
“You’re avoiding the question, counselor,” she teased him. “Why are you outside the inner circle? By mistake or by choice?”
“Okay, choice, I guess. It’s complicated, but I think mainly it starts in college. In legal circles, even more so in high-power politics, there’s this huge social divide between men who pledge the ‘right’ fraternities and those who don’t.”
The Lawman Meets His Bride Page 15
