by Joanna Wayne
“Who was driving the car?”
“The stoned thug who stole it.” A swell of renewed anger sharpened her tone.
The cop’s stare intensified. “Are you telling me your car was stolen with the kid inside?”
“Yes, from the Clancy Supermarket parking lot just blocks from here.”
His mouth drew into two tight lines. “In that case, we’ve just gone from a major traffic accident to an attempted kidnapping. Excuse me a minute. I need to call the precinct and let them know what’s going on here.”
Whitfield stepped away and made the call on his cell phone. Alexis took a deep breath as her insides began to roll again. The last thing she needed was yet more cops snooping into her life.
“If you know who stole the car, you should level with the officer,” Tague said, keeping his voice low enough that she doubted Whitfield had heard it.
“Are you suggesting I knew that punk?”
“I’m not suggesting anything, except that Whitfield seems to be making you awful nervous.”
“It’s not him that’s making me nervous. It’s the situation.”
It also worried her that Tague’s reassuring manner was so disarming. It tempted her to trust him when she knew she didn’t dare.
A hammering sensation started just below her right temple as Whitfield rejoined them.
“I’ll take a statement from you now,” the cop said, “but a detective will be in touch with you to follow up later today.”
“There’s not much I can tell you or a detective. I had just gotten to the supermarket and was getting out of my car when a thug walked up and demanded my keys. I struggled, but he had muscles—and a pistol.”
“Is that how you got that black eye and the knot on the back of your head?”
She reached back and felt the tender flesh swelling beneath her hair. No wonder she was getting such a headache. “I fell backward and into a rearview mirror when he punched me.”
“Did you call 911?” Whitfield asked.
“I made an attempt while we were chasing after the thief. I’d just started explaining the situation when the collision occurred. I think I just dropped the phone at that point, but I don’t actually remember. I was too panicked to think.”
“You broke the connection. The dispatcher reported it, but we didn’t have a name or a location. We figured it was a hoax, but she was trying to get a location anyway.”
The cop nodded toward to Tague. “Are you the boy’s father?”
“No,” Alexis said quickly, answering for him. “There is no father, at least not one who’s in the picture. I’m divorced.” And please let the cop and the detective leave it at that.
“We’ve just met,” Tague explained. “I happened to be at the right place at the right time.”
“And you are?”
“Tague Lambert.”
“Any kin to the late Hugh Lambert?”
“I’m his youngest son.”
The cop shifted and rubbed a spot over his right ear as his attitude did some adjusting. “Mr. Lambert was a good man. I arrested him once for speeding. I had no idea he was good friends with the chief of police. Not that I would have done anything differently, mind you.”
“Of course not.”
“Point is, instead of pulling rank on me and expecting favors, he sent my supervisor a letter commending me for the professional way I handed the violation.”
“That was Dad,” Tague said. “Praise if you deserved it. A reaming-out if you didn’t.”
“Like I said, a good man.” Whitfield swatted at a mosquito that buzzed his ear. “Did you witness the carjacking, Mr. Lambert?”
“No. Alexis had chased the car into the middle of the street when I spotted her. I threw on my brakes to miss her. She jumped in my truck and ordered me to catch up to the Honda. I could tell she meant business, so I jumped to it.”
“Trying to follow him was a smart move on your part,” Whitfield said, turning his attention back to Alexis. “Had the perp not wrecked that car, no telling where he might have taken your son or what might have happened after that.”
Alexis shuddered at the thought. But Tague had been there for her, a hero in jeans, boots and a cowboy hat. He might be only an urban cowboy, but he looked tanned, virile and hard-bodied enough to be the real thing. He’d be a great guy to have for a friend—had she been in a position to have friends.
Whitfield pulled a pen and a small notebook from his shirt pocket. “So tell me exactly what occurred in the parking lot, Mrs. Beranger.”
Once she started relating the incident, the details poured out. She was amazed at how much she remembered considering her state of mind at the time and how fast everything had happened.
Before she finished, an ambulance arrived on the scene. The sirens sent Tommy into another meltdown. He began to scream.
She picked him up and tried to reassure him as two paramedics rushed to where they were standing, apparently at the directions of one of the other police officers.
It took her several minutes to convince them that in spite of her bruises and the bump on her head, she didn’t require their assistance and neither did her wailing son.
“I’ll see a doctor and I’ll definitely have my son checked out,” she insisted. “But putting him in an ambulance will only frighten him more. Honestly, he seemed fine before you arrived. He’s crying because he’s afraid of strangers and sirens, not because he’s in pain.”
They still had her sign a waiver asserting she’d refused their services.
“I’m sure you realize that your car will have to be towed,” Whitfield said.
“I know it’s not drivable.”
“Since you turned down the ambulance, you should either call a friend to pick you up and take you and the boy to the nearest emergency room, or I can have an officer drive you there. I suggest the former. It would be quicker and you don’t want to stand around in this heat any longer than you have to.”
“I’ve already taken care of that,” she lied. The last thing she needed was to spend any unnecessary time with a cop. Nor did she need the prying questions of emergency room personnel unless it was necessary for Tommy’s well-being. Anonymity was her best protection.
Whitfield asked a few more questions and then put his notebook away.
“There’s been a rash of shootings in this area lately,” Whitfield continued, “all related to drugs or gang activity. Considering the violence these junkies are capable of, you’re fortunate that the car is all you lost.”
“Actually, I think the thief made off with her handbag,” Tague said. “I got a quick glimpse of the driver when he fled the vehicle. He was holding what looked like a ladies’ white purse when he disappeared into the alley. I gave chase but never spotted him again.”
Alexis exhaled, blowing off steam. Now she not only had no car, she had no phone, no ready cash to call a taxi, and worst of all, no driver’s license. And it wasn’t as if she could just march in and request another one in Alexis Beranger’s name, since as far as she knew Alexis Beranger didn’t exist.
“I can’t let you in the car until it’s been checked for prints,” Whitfield said. “But I can see if your purse is in the vehicle.”
Dread squeezed the breath from her lungs. She should have realized they’d do a routine check for fingerprints.
And when they did, they’d find hers and discover her real identity.
“How long will it take you to check for prints?” she asked
“With the backlog they have in the investigation unit, we’ll be lucky if we get the report back this week.”
“What’s the quickest you could get it back?”
“Wednesday afternoon,” Whitfield said, “but that would only be if the chief put a rush on it.”
She couldn�
�t rule that out. It was Monday now. That gave her two days to disappear again. And she had no car.
“You should go ahead and alert your insurance company,” Whitfield said, “though I suspect they’ll total it. The Honda is what—about eight years old?”
“Ten.” She’d bought it from a used car lot in Vegas seven months ago, a few days after fleeing California. She’d have to settle for one older than that this time. Her ready cash was running low.
“I’ll need Tommy’s car seat before I leave today,” she said.
Whitfield dabbed at the perspiration that beaded on his forehead with a wrinkled handkerchief he’d pulled from his back pocket. “I’ll have one of the cops get the boy’s seat for you now. Then you’ll be free to go. Like I said, a detective from the precinct will contact you, likely later today.”
“My phone is in my purse,” she said.
“That’s okay. I need to get your home address anyway.”
She provided it and a few other relative pieces of information he would have normally taken from her fake driver’s license. And now she’d have a detective making a house call. Could this get any worse?
Yes, she answered herself. It could be a million times worse. Tommy might have actually been kidnapped or seriously injured or even killed in the wreck. And she was the one who’d vowed to keep him safe.
“Want to go home,” Tommy whined as Whitfield walked away.
“I know you do, sweetie.” He was hot and tired and recovering from a traumatic morning. And now he’d have to get used to a new home.
“Exactly how is it you called a friend when you don’t have a phone?” Tague asked.
Her irritation swelled. “So now you’re starting with the questions, too?”
“I’m just wondering how you plan to get home when you have no car and no money.”
“I figured I could bum bus money from you.”
“I never lend money to friends.”
“We’re not exactly friends.”
“We must be. I never offer rides to strangers.”
“I didn’t hear you offer.”
“Give me time.” He made a mock bow. “May I give you a lift?”
Her ready response was no. But she really did need a ride. And it wasn’t as if she’d be around long enough to worry about the cowboy trying to stay in touch.
“I live on the other side of town,” she cautioned. “You might want to consider that before you make those rash offers.”
“In that case, I may have to charge double.”
“You expect me to pay you?”
“I was kidding. Let’s get out of here.”
“Okay, but I have to make a stop before going home.”
“At the hospital, I hope.”
“If it’s necessary. First I’d like to check with my son’s pediatrician. If the doctor can check him out at the clinic near my house, it would be less stressful to Tommy. He’s familiar with the setting and the staff.”
“I can handle that. But you still need someone to check out your injuries.”
“I’m fine, and if you’ll stop with the questions and orders, I’ll accept your offer. But just for a ride,” she emphasized, just in case he was expecting more. Tague looked and acted like a gentleman, but she’d been fooled before.
“A ride was all I offered. You’re safe with me, Alexis. But I can provide references if you doubt me.”
“From your mother?”
“Either her or my parole officer.” He put a hand up to cut off her protests before they formed. “I’m only teasing.”
“Okay, cowboy. You’re on.”
Chapter Three
Tague thumbed through the newsmagazine for about twenty seconds before dropping it back to the waiting room table. It was his first time in a pediatrician’s office since he’d been a kid himself and he felt as out of place as a wasp in a beehive.
He was the only person in the room not accompanied by a kid or two. One woman was corralling three, none of whom appeared to be old enough to go to school.
Tague had nothing against kids, but the idea of being outnumbered by them three to one was a little frightening. They seemed more work than a herd of cattle, and they definitely required more supervision.
It had to be tough raising one on your own the way Alexis was doing. Already married and divorced though Tague figured she was likely no older than his twenty-six years.
The woman was definitely intriguing. She was feisty enough to try to fight off an armed thug and then commandeer Tague into action to go after her son. But she was ready to run from a cop just trying to help.
What really had him going was that she looked so hauntingly familiar. Yet he was pretty sure he hadn’t run into her before.
He couldn’t help noticing her great figure and stunning legs that did terrific things for her white shorts. Straight, blond, silky hair that cupped her chin and fell to her shoulders. Enticing lips.
But it was the eyes that really mesmerized him. Sort of a blue-violet color tucked in between thick, dark lashes. Sometimes fiery. Sometimes shadowed and troubled. Always hypnotic. She was not the kind of woman a red-blooded male would forget meeting.
And the druggie who’d stolen her purse had her ID and her home address. Neither Whitfield nor Alexis had mentioned the danger that could entail, but both had to be aware of it.
Even if the detective who’d be calling on her later today brought it up, he’d only warn her to be careful and keep her doors locked. She’d be on her own if the thug decided to show up for a return engagement.
Or maybe she wouldn’t be alone. She could have a jock live-in who could make the thug wish he’d kept running. But if there was a man on demand, Alexis hadn’t mentioned him nor called him—at least not on Tague’s phone.
That still didn’t make Tague responsible for her safety. After all, it was only a bizarre act of fate that had thrown them together. The only reason he’d been on that street at all was a detour prompted by a street repair crew.
Tague had come into town this morning to pick up a saddle from the best saddle maker in Texas. Not for himself, but for his brother Damien who’d had it made as a surprise for his new wife. He wanted it to be in the tack room waiting on Emma when they returned from their honeymoon.
It was midafternoon now and Tague was yet to pick up the saddle. Alexis had insisted he didn’t have to wait for her at the doctor’s office. But what kind of jerk would leave a woman and a kid stranded after the morning they’d been through?
Still, he was rotten at sitting and doing nothing. He stood and left the waiting room, choosing instead to pace the wide hallway of the three-story medical complex. Even that felt confining.
He took out his phone and called Cork. With his brother Damien on his honeymoon, he relied on his head wrangler more than ever.
“How’s it going?” he asked when Cork finally answered.
“Busy. Just finished moving the cattle scheduled for their injections into the holding pens. And one of the horses is acting colicky. Don’t know what brought it on. There’s been no change in the feed.”
“Which horse?”
“King.”
Damien’s personal horse. “Keep an eye on King. Administer the usual treatment, but don’t hesitate to call Doctor Benson if you think it’s necessary.”
“Will do,” Cork said. “Are you heading back this way yet?”
“No, I decided last minute to take care of some other business while I’m in town. I’m not sure what time I’ll get back to the Bent Pine,” Tague said. “I could be late so tell Mother not to wait dinner on me.”
“I’ll let her know.”
“If anything comes up, you can always reach me on my cell,” Tague added.
“Gotcha.”
W
hile he had the phone out, he made a quick call to Harry Rucker and let him know that he might not make it to his shop to pick up the saddle today.
It was forty-five minutes of pacing later when Alexis came swinging out the door.
“Me got a sucker,” Tommy said, holding up a bright red lollipop before poking it between his lips.
Alexis’s brows arched. “You’re still here.”
“I told you I’d wait,” he said.
“I know, but I thought you might reconsider and decide you’d wasted enough time on me.”
“I wanted to make sure the boy is okay.”
“Really? You stayed for Tommy?” Her expression registered surprise and a hint of pleasure. “I appreciate that.”
“So where is my lollipop?” Tague asked.
“Sorry. You have to get examined to earn one of those.”
“Maybe we can work on that later?”
Her cheeks reddened.
“Once again, only teasing,” Tague said. “I’m just here to taxi you home.” He opened the door and they walked out of the waiting room together, Tommy sucking for all he was worth and holding fast to his mother’s hand.
Once Tommy was safely buckled into the backseat, Alexis climbed into the front seat with Tague.
Tague started the engine. “I’ll need directions.”
“Take a left when you leave the parking lot, then a right at the second light. My apartment complex is two miles down on the right. It takes up two blocks. You can’t miss it.”
“That would have been a long walk in this heat.”
“Ten steps is a long walk in this heat. I’m sure I would have opted for a taxi. I have cash at home that I could have paid him with.”
“Did the doctor give Tommy a good report?”
“He said he’ll have some bruising where the safety belt dug into his shoulder and on at least one of his legs. The flesh is already turning purple. But Dr. Pendleton detected no signs of internal injuries or sprains.”
“That’s great and incredible, especially seeing the condition of your Honda.”
“I know. I hate to even think about how close we skirted tragedy.”