Sam sucked in all his anger and frustration, grabbed a deep breath, and blew it out. Ignoring everyone else, he focused his attention exclusively on the major.
“Please,” he said with hard-forced calm. “I’m just trying to do a job here. In my right hip pocket is my wallet. In it you will find my identification and my permit to carry concealed. In the money section is a bond undertaking for this ‘poor, degraded’ woman.”
“You’re saying you’re a bail enforcer?” Hands reached around him to slide his wallet free from his pocket.
“Yes, sir, I am.”
Major Baskin eyed him steadily for a moment, then looked down at the wallet in his hand. Flipping it open, he riffled through the contents until he came upon proof of Sam’s claim. Removing three items, he turned and passed them to the young patrolman. “Did the prisoner attempt to tell you this when you apprehended him?” he demanded.
The patrolman looked up from the papers he held, his expression faintly sick. Sam’s respect for him escalated, however, when the young man met his superior’s gaze head-on and answered without excuse, “Yes, sir. I wouldn’t allow him to speak.”
The major’s hand sliced the air in Sam’s direction. “Get those cuffs off him,” he commanded. “Now.” Then he drilled his subordinate with displeased eyes. “I’d be interested in knowing why, Johnson.”
Sam believed in assigning blame where blame rightfully belonged. “Probably because Ms. MacPherson is one hell of an actress as well as a pathological liar,” he said flatly before the young patrolman could even attempt to defend himself. “I doubt an honest word has passed her lips since the day she was born. I know for a fact that one hasn’t since I arrested her in Seattle.”
“That is completely false,” Catherine disagreed. “Not to mention slanderous.”
“Oh, I’ll give you this, Red, you’re damn good.” Sam didn’t quite trust himself to look at her as he made the concession. He carefully rotated his shoulders forward when his wrists were freed and he could finally move his arms. Rubbing his wrists, he looked up at the major. “She’s so convincing, in fact, that this is the second bus she’s managed to get us kicked off of.” Then he did swivel in his chair to look at Catherine. Anger still percolated deep in his gut, but he at least was able to face her without fearing he’d snatch her up by her slender white throat and shake her like a terrier with a rat. “Just out of curiosity, how the hell did you manage to get the cops called in?”
She eyed him levelly but didn’t respond. It was Major Baskin who replied to his question.
“We received a call from a Mrs. Mary Sanders. She said a woman using sign language communicated to her that she was being held against her will on Greyhound Bus Number 1175.”
“Which is all perfectly true,” Catherine contributed calmly.
Sam’s stomach began to churn. Sign? She actually knew sign language? “When was this?” he demanded, staring at her, willing her to just once tell him the truth. “When you used the rest room on the bus?”
Once again she ignored him and spoke directly to the senior officer. “My name is Catherine MacPherson,” she said, and launched directly into her Teacher-of-the-Deaf, Twin-Sister-to-Kaylee-MacPherson story.
Sam rolled his eyes, and said, “Oh, boy, here we go again.”
But in truth, for the first time since he’d taken her into custody he wasn’t one hundred percent certain he had the right woman. Never in this lifetime would he have expected a chorus girl to know sign language.
“Where did you learn how to sign, Ms. MacPherson?” the major inquired. “In college?”
For the first time since the patrolman boarded the bus, Catherine’s confidence faltered, and she hesitated, shooting a speculative glance at Sam.
He sat up straight, inexplicable excitement making his heart pound in his chest. What? What did she think he might know that would preclude her lying for once? And why would she think he knew it?
Her hesitation lasted another heartbeat before she admitted, “No, sir. I already knew how to sign before I began college. I learned it from my mother, who was deaf.”
Yes! The sick, sinking feeling in his gut disappeared. Hell, he never should have doubted himself—he was an excellent judge of character. “Miss MacPherson does have a twin sister who teaches the deaf, Major. But when I went to the school that employs her, I was informed Catherine MacPherson is in Europe.”
Catherine opened her mouth to tell them how her travel agent had robbed her of that trip but shut it again, the words left unspoken. As if they’d believe anything that came out of her mouth at this point, especially with Sam relating in that no-nonsense way of his how he’d then discovered her fleeing through the bathroom window, Kaylee’s suitcase and a purse that identified her as her sister already strewn before her on the patio.
She’d made a huge mistake getting caught up in their game of wits. She should have immediately established her identity instead of giving Sam the chance to make her look like a natural-born liar.
It took another two hours and fifty minutes, but the Highway Patrol ultimately managed to intercede to have their bus tickets replaced. Twenty minutes after that, the young patrolman who’d brought them in, pointedly all business with Catherine this time, dropped them at a modestly priced motel.
It occurred to Catherine as Sam hustled her to the motel office that failing to tell the police of her canceled European trip was a serious misjudgment on her part. Here she’d been in a place rife with the resources to varify things like that, and she’d allowed a momentary discouragement to prevent her from availing herself of them. She was going to have to do better than this at thinking on her feet.
Sam shoved Catherine into the room ahead of him and tossed their bags on the nearest bed. He was furious and wired and knew if he had an ounce of intelligence he’d just lock her to the bed frame and go take a walk until he cooled down. Instead, without even attempting to curb the nasty curl of his lips, he gave her a feral grin. Neither did he resist the temptation to needle her a bit. “Thought the information about your deaf mother was in my file, didn’t you, Red? Ah, man, ain’t justice a sweet thing?” He stepped closer and gave her a patronizing little chuck under her chin. “Guess what, darlin’—that was the one bit of information not covered in there.” He lowered his head until their faces were only centimeters apart. Arranging his face in solemn lines, he said with false commiseration, “Don’t you just hate it when your lies turn around and bite you on your pretty little butt?”
It was at that moment their former bus pulled into its scheduled dinner stop.
Across the lot, Kaylee leaned forward in the front seat of the rental car. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” she urged under her breath, as each passenger who exited the bus turned out to be someone other than Catherine. Staring through the windshield, she silently willed her sister to appear, and it took several moments before it finally sank in that no one else was going to get off the bus.
“She’s not on it?” Incredulous, she turned to Bobby, her voice beginning to rise, her eyes to accuse, as she demanded frantically, “Where is she, Bobby? Oh, God Jaysus, where the hell is she? She’s not on the bus!”
“I don’t know, baby.” Bobby was as mystified as she. “Scott said she and the bounty hunter were supposed to be on this one.” He reached over to smooth his fingers down Kaylee’s flushed cheek, but as usual whenever he tried to touch her these days, she slapped his hand away. He flung himself back behind the wheel. “What the hell am I doing here?” he demanded testily.
She shot him a look. “Kissing and making up was how you sold it to me, chum.”
“Yeah? Well, there sure hell ain’t been a whole lotta kissin’ going on, so maybe what I’m really doing here is making a mistake.” He didn’t need this shit. He didn’t need it at all. No sir. There were always more women where this one came from. Hell, yes, plenty more—women loved him.
Kaylee apparently didn’t, however—at least not anymore. Her look drilled right through him
. “Nobody forced you to come along,” she informed him coolly. “If this is too much trouble, just say the word and I’ll drive you back to the airport in Pocatello.”
“Keep pushin’ me, Kaylee, and I will.” It was what he ought to do. If he was smart, he’d bail right out while the bailing was good and leave this cranky redhead and her stupid, sister-hunting wild-goose chase behind.
Hell, it was only pride that had brought him running after her in the first place. Well, okay, there’d been concern, too, for the mess she was in, but mostly it was pride. He’d seen her getting away, and it had threatened his perfect record, and that had chafed.
He possessed charm in abundance, and it had enabled him to walk away from every relationship he’d ever had and still remain friends with the woman involved. After the screwup with the borrowed car, Kaylee had been the ultimate challenge, that was all, and this was just his pride demanding he figure out a way to make her forgive him. That was the only explanation that made sense as to why he’d felt so compelled to follow her across the country.
Well, maybe he ought to just forgo getting her avowal of eternal friendship and hit the highway back to his real life.
Kaylee smacked him on the arm. “Why are you just sitting there?” she demanded. “What do we do now?”
“There’s a phone booth over there. I’ll go call Scott again.”
Five minutes later, he climbed back in the car, loath to share the latest news, which was actually no news at all.
Kaylee, of course, exhibited her usual patience. “Well?” she demanded. “What’s the story?”
“Scott’s not home.”
“Bobby!”
He turned on her, slamming his palm down on the steering wheel. “Just what the hell do you expect me to do, Kaylee? He’s not home—I can’t control that.”
She continued to glare at him for a moment, then suddenly her anger collapsed. She reached out a hand to trail conciliatory fingertips down his forearm. “I know you can’t. I’m sorry. I’m just worried about Cat, and I’m frustrated because once again I’ve screwed everything up, and I don’t know what to do to clean up this mess I’ve made.”
Bobby didn’t quite know how to deal with the funny little double clutch his stomach performed. “We’ll figure it out,” he heard himself promising and ground down hard on his back teeth. Shut up, LaBon. Reaching out, he ran his fingertips down her cheek again, and felt inexplicably gratified when this time she allowed it. “You hungry, baby?”
She shook her head despondently.
“You haven’t had much rest,” he observed next and wondered a bit frantically just when the hell it was he’d turned into such a Nurse Nancy. “Why don’t we go grab a motel room while we decide what to do next.”
“Whatever.” Kaylee shrugged indifferently.
“Listen,” Bobby heard himself say, “you’ve told me yourself that Catherine is nothing if not careful.”
Kaylee turned to face him, pulling one knee up onto the seat. “It’s the one thing you can always count on with her,” she agreed earnestly. “Oh, she’s resourceful, for sure,” she rushed to say, as if he’d argued with her assessment. “But the one fact that is above all, A-l guaranteed in my sister’s life is that she is always, but always, very, very careful.” She gave him a tentative smile, and Bobby had to check himself from sliding out from under the wheel to reach for her.
“So, she’ll be okay.”
“Yes, she’ll be okay,” she agreed. She gave a thoughtful little shimmy that caused a ripple effect from her rounded white shoulders, down her arms, to her rounded, spandex-covered breasts. “Let’s go get that room,” she suggested with renewed confidence. “I could use a shower, and I definitely need to redo my makeup. You’re right, Cat’ll be fine. After all, prudence is the girl’s middle name.”
9
LOOKING INTO SAM’S mocking eyes, only centimeters from her own, Catherine knew the prudent thing to do was allow him time to regain his customary command of his temper. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that underneath that cock-of-the-walk arrogance, he was still furious.
The day had been too long, though, this motel room was too depressingly dingy, and she felt restless, reckless…not to mention the way his crowing was beginning to get on her last good nerve.
Smacking both hands against the solid wall of his chest, Catherine gave a shove to get him out of her face. Relieved when he backed up a step, taking his heat and his scent with him, she drew her first comfortable breath and edged around him to reach for her suitcase. Throwing it on the worn bedspread, she opened it and pulled out the shirt he’d lent her yesterday, which she’d appropriated as her own. She rammed her arms into the sleeves and then looked over at him. “I’m getting sick and tired of having you call me a liar,” she informed him with more heat than she’d intended. With each button she fastened, her confidence level rose. It felt good to again be wearing something that didn’t cling to every last molecule of her body. “You know, McKade, it seems to me that after being treated like a congenital liar yourself all afternoon, you’d be a little less free about bandying that word around.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “The difference here, Sister, is that you are a liar. I, on the other hand, was railroaded by your ability with a quick story.”
“Oh, for crying out loud!” Catherine’s hands fisted on her hips. “I defy you to point out one word I said today that wasn’t the absolute truth.”
One minute there was a respectable amount of space separating them, and the next Sam was towering over her, crowding her away from the bed and close to the wall. Once again she found herself standing with her nose practically pressed into his collarbone.
“That your name is Catherine MacPherson, for starters,” he growled above her head.
She pulled herself erect and jutted out her chin, aiming for a more equitable height ratio between them. “It is Catherine MacPherson,” she informed him coolly. His nostrils flared and his amber eyes were hot with wrath as he stared down at her, and she was filled with a sudden heedless urge to goad him into losing his temper entirely. She’d liked it when he’d lost it at the state barracks earlier. No, she’d reveled in it. She’d had so little control over her own life since this man had barged into it, that it was exceedingly gratifying to see him thrust into a Tilt-A-Whirl world for a change. His frustration when his authority was removed from his hands had been a pretty sight to see…even if only temporarily. “Did I lie when I told them you pulled my pants down and touched me where you had no business touching me?” she demanded. “I don’t think so.”
“You know damn well that was strictly to verify that you have a tattoo on your lily-white ass!”
“So you say. But we both know you could have verified it without touching me. And may I remind you that you’re the one who keeps mentioning the color of my butt? Why is that, I wonder? I think you just get some perverted sort of thrill out of feeling up helpless women.”
“Bull!” Sam’s hot breath hit her mouth, her nose, her cheeks, as he thrust his face aggressively near. “That’s total bullshit. And I think we’ve pretty much established that you haven’t been helpless since the day you were born, Red, so why don’t you just drop that act. Ain’t nobody who’s been in your company for more than an hour gonna believe it anyhow.” Black lashes suddenly narrowed over his eyes. “You know what I think, lady? I think you like seeing how many men you can get all hot and bothered.”
Indignation roared through her veins. “Oh! You are so full of it! Just because you can’t keep your hands to yourself or get your mind out of the gutter doesn’t mean the rest of us share your lowlife preoccupation with sex!”
“Oh, I think you do. Maybe you’re one of those women who doesn’t deliver in the end, but you sure do like to tease. Just look at what you do for a living.”
“Teach deaf kids?”
“Wear G-strings and feathers. I think you really like stickin’ those 38 Double Dee extravaganzas in everybody’s face—”
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br /> “Thirty-four D!”
“—and shaking your butt in those tight little numbers you’re so fond of wearing, and seeing just how many guys you can make slobber all over themselves.”
“You know what, McKade? You’re beginning to sound just like my mother. She used to harp on displaying our sinful bodies, too.”
Sam was highly insulted to be compared to a nagging mother, but he gritted his teeth and confined his response to a reasonably mild, “Yeah? Well maybe you should have listened to Mom.”
“Oh, I did,” Catherine assured him. “It was one of the main reasons I chose the field I’m in today.”
“Getting back to that, you might want to watch your habit of gettin’ the guys all riled up. They just plumb hate it when you get ’em all in a lather and then refuse to put out. In fact, they’ve got a name for women like you—”
“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no.” Catherine thrust her nose up under Sam’s. “Huh-uh, buster—no way you get away with that one. You’re not gonna twist this around on me because you’re some uptight cop wanna-be who can’t handle the sight of a healthy female body!”
“And yours is certainly healthy, darlin’.” His gaze was insolent as he leaned back to slowly run it up and down her body. “Well fed, some might call it.” Well rounded, well filled out. Nice.
“Oh! You are such a coyote! I am not overweight, so don’t even think you can make me feel like a heifer.”
“I wasn’t—”
“The hell you weren’t! And the really nasty part is that I doubt you even go for the skinny, anorexic type. I bet you fantasize about G-strings and feathers all the time you’re sneering at the dancers who wear them. Just because you’re some repressed, Calvinistic prude—”
One black eyebrow shot up. “Logical as ever, I see. Make up your mind, Red—am I a repressed prude or a degenerate sex maniac?”
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