Marshall's Law

by Denise A. Agnew

  Still, Dana couldn’t stop visualizing the worry on Marshall’s face when he’d pulled the boy to shore. Top that off with the idea that Marshall might have died saving him, and Dana’s gut clenched in reaction. No. She wouldn’t think about it. Not now, not ever.

  Kerrie blew an errant piece of hair off her forehead, then leaned forward. “You haven’t known him long enough. Dana, I’ve never seen you this judgmental.”

  Before she could stop herself, Dana said softly, “I’ve never met a man like him before.”

  “Oh.” One blonde brow twitched. “I see.”

  “You see nothing.”

  Kerrie laughed. “He’s pretty intense, isn’t he?”

  Crossing her legs, Dana pursed her lips and put an index finger to her chin in a thinking pose. “Gee, I dunno. I’d say growling about once an hour might qualify as intense.”

  Another set of giggles escaped Kerrie. “You’ve caught him during some bad times. You don’t know the whole story.”

  “And I suppose you’re going to tell me?”

  “You want to see me live through next week? Marshall will kill me if I tell you.”

  “See, that’s what I mean. Why would he treat a friend like that if he were so freaking nice?”

  “You’ve seen how he treats me.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen. Like you’re a Fabergè egg.”

  Kerrie propped her sandaled feet on the coffee table. “Jealous?”

  “I thought you said there was nothing going on—”

  “No, no.” Kerrie flapped her hands in dismissal. “But I saw your reaction when he was hugging me. You shot not only daggers my way, but I think if you’d had a sword you would have cut off my head and his uh…you know.” Kerrie’s golden laugh trickled free again and one lock of her hair flopped across her eyes. She pushed the strand away, holding her hair back in a bunch for a moment before letting it cascade back to her shoulders. “Granted, he’s not easy to know. He’s deadly serious with his work. Not a man to cross.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “You’re a writer. Maybe you should take notes about his personality. Could make a great character in a novel someday.”

  “I’m not curious enough to take notes.”

  Dana stood, ready to run from the conversation, frightened of how easily Kerrie read her. Instead, Dana reached for the nut bowl and grabbed a handful of cashews. As she snacked, she paced behind her chair.

  Kerrie reached for her tea, shifted to the couch and put her legs up.

  Dana wished she could relax. Her nerves were stretched to the bursting point.

  “I’ve known him since we were kids. So I’ve had a lot of time to see his million sides,” Kerrie said.

  “Sounds a little multiple personality to me.”

  “Maybe two personalities. People either hate him or love him. Doesn’t seem to be any in between. I happen to be in the love camp. He just cuts the meat and doesn’t stop to dribble steak sauce. Not everyone can handle that. His job requires quick action, and I think he is a wise-ass when he believes a person is being stupid.”

  Rubbing her temples again, Dana sighed. “So if he’s so all fired wonderful, how come you didn’t bag him a zillion years ago?”

  “We’re not about that.” Kerrie plunged onward, her eyes alive with amusement. “He’s like my brother. He’s wicked and funny and cares about things so deeply I think he teeters on the edge of caring too much. I’m not a match for him, and he’s not for me.”

  “Humph.”

  Kerrie’s grin turned conspiratorial. “You might be the first woman I’ve known who didn’t get an almost immediate crush on him once they’d met him.”

  Dana made a disgusted sound. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Haven’t you noticed what a hunk he is?” Kerrie made a sweeping gesture with one hand.

  Dana shrugged. “He’s kinda plain, actually. Ordinary even.”

  “Plain? Ordinary? Girlfriend, where are your eyes? He’s built with a bod to die for.”

  Unwilling to admit that she thought he looked beyond good, Dana sneered. “His face is sort of… I dunno…almost baby cute. No, that doesn’t quite explain it.”

  Kerrie threw her head back and laughed. “In his own way he’s striking, Dana. Women I’ve talked to say he’s got this…this palpable heavy-duty masculinity. A sort of raw animal magnetism that reels them in.”

  “For the kill, yeah.”

  “That’s not it. Maybe it’s his passion. He lives each moment and gives everything he can to something he believes in. How many people do you know who can say that about themselves?”

  Dana winced. She was all too aware of her own shortcomings. “Practically no one.”

  Silence enveloped the room while Dana stewed. A niggling thought entered her consciousness, prickling like an irritating feather applied to the bottom of her foot. What if I don’t like him because he turns me on? Because my hormones don’t give a flip what I think of his personality. Bah!

  “Are you sure you don’t want to move in here with Lucille while I’m in Jamaica?” Kerrie asked after a lengthy silence. “Think of all the peace and quiet.”

  “I didn’t even bring my laptop.” Dana took a few steps toward the foyer.

  “So write in the sunlight with pen and paper. Haven’t you ever done that?”

  Dana nodded. “I prefer my keyboard. If I write it out, I have to type it all into the computer later.”

  Kerrie gave her a ‘aren’t you a lazy wench’ look. “So? Wouldn’t you rather have good writing you could use? Aren’t you afraid the muse will hit and if you don’t write it down you’ll miss it?”

  Dana stopped at the hall tree and retrieved her light jacket. “Are you sure you’re not a writer?”

  Kerrie pushed back her hair again. “No, but I know you well enough to realize this writer’s block won’t last forever. You just need time to discover what is blocking you. I think if you spend time with pen, paper and nature, you’ll write again.”

  A strong upwelling of emotion made Dana’s eyes water, and her throat tightened. Not being able to write was damned hard work. She knew all she had to do was sit down and write and somehow the right words would evolve. Dana looked at the floor, not wanting her friend to see how she felt.

  She shrugged into her jacket. “Thanks for the advice, Kerrie. You’re a good friend. I’d better hit the road before it gets too late.”

  As Dana opened the door, Kerrie turned on the porch light. “Ten o’clock sharp tomorrow. Booth twenty. You forget and your butt is mine.”

  Dana laughed and waved as she unlocked her car door. “I’ll be there.”

  The car ate up the road as Dana headed down Kerrie’s long driveway and into the night.

  Sighing to rid her body of tension, she peered into the darkness. Kerrie lived out in the country past Aunt Lucille, on the same road, and the lonely night seemed to swallow everything in blackness. Dirt road ran beneath her wheels, dust flying into the headlights like particles of snow. She hadn’t gone far when she saw headlights approaching from the rear. She ignored them.

  She thought forward to tomorrow’s town fair and the booth she’d promised to man. Good old Kerrie had refused to give details, saying that any money produced by the booth went to charity. Dana knew the fair needed help, and if Kerrie said she needed assistance, Dana wouldn’t deny her. Still, Kerrie wouldn’t be above mischief.

  Suddenly, lights blinked in the rear view mirror, blinding in intensity. She glanced into the mirror and saw the car behind her barreling like crazy toward her.

  “Shit!” Her heart leapt upward and jammed somewhere around her throat. “What the hell does this guy think he’s doing? Fine, moron, go around me. I’m already going over the speed limit. I hope Marshall pops out of the woodwork and nails your ass.”

  Before she had a chance to become frightened, the car rammed the rear bumper with incredible force.

  Chapter Eight

  Dana cursed as the impact snap
ped her head back and Bertha swerved. Fighting the wheel, she ignored the twinge in her neck. Dana’s car lurched again as the crazy person behind her smacked the vehicle with a powerful blow.

  Another bone-rattling crunch sent Bertha into a sideways twist. Dana’s heart thumped as she wrestled her car into a straight form on the narrow dirt road. Tires crunched rock and bounced over the washboard surface. Dana poured on the speed, cramming down the urge to scream. Her throat tightened, shivers of terror threatening to overrule her ability to cope. Struggling with overwhelming fear, she reached for courage.

  With a last, murderous push, the car behind her sent Bertha into a spin. Dana’s car careened to the left, fishtailing. The steering wheel wrenched from her fingers and the car bounced like a demented Mexican jumping bean off the road and down the long embankment toward the trees.

  Dana didn’t scream. Instead she cursed and cursed as Bertha bucked like a wild horse and plunged over rocks.

  That’s it. Bertha’s had it. I’ve had it.

  The car hit a tree near the bottom of the steep embankment, wrenching her body like a rag doll.

  Lucille’s house looked calm tonight, but Marshall didn’t want to leave. Closky parked a ways down the road to intercept any cars that approached. Although off duty, Marshall had decided he’d check around the house before he left. Now he sat in the Grand Cherokee in front of the house and wondered if he’d lost his mind. He’d gotten Sheriff Pizer to put Closky on Lucille’s house full time for a couple of nights. It took some finagling. Marshall had explained he suspected prowlers were menacing Lucille, and he’d never mentioned the bed that made noises. He didn’t want anyone thinking Lucille had flown the chicken coop without all her feathers.

  He gritted his teeth as he remembered the rest of the evening.

  He couldn’t believe he’d danced with Dana. Number one, being anywhere near her caused his heart to beat in ways that threatened his sanity. Second, he couldn’t believe he’d pulled her into the pantry. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Pizer called him into his office and told him to turn in his badge and gun pending an investigation into sexual harassment charges.

  No. He hadn’t sexually harassed Dana.

  Yet, when he’d stood near her, had her in his arms, he’d almost lost control. Almost dipped down to taste her lips. Face it, sport. You wanted her in that pantry so you could get her alone.

  God, but he’d been tempted to gather her closer. But this time not to dance.

  And the idea of Gregory touching her made his gut clench in anger. He held the steering wheel tight, staring into the night. He wished he could stop the unsettled feeling gripping him tonight after he left Dana and Kerrie at the party.

  Seeing Kerrie had been a relief. With Kerrie he felt companionable and safe. Nothing sparked between them like a firestorm. When he got within a few feet of Dana Cummings, the world seemed to light up with an earth-shattering energy he couldn’t escape.

  He’d tried to understand, other than pure animal attraction, what he felt for her. He liked her intelligence, wit and fortitude under pressure. She also drove him nuts with her demands, her barbs and her mistrust of him.

  His suspicions were raised when he saw Gregory and Neal at the party. Both men didn’t make it into Macon often. He’d wondered right away if Gregory had a plot going to drive sweet Lucille insane. Not that it made sense for Neal. The man didn’t seem to possess a greedy bone in his body. He would question both men and discover if they had any part in the odd happenings at Lucille’s house.

  Thoughts of Dana intruded again. She might drive him bonkers with sexual urges, but long ago Marshall realized he couldn’t trust his instincts when it came to women. As he simmered in thoughts of Dana’s flaming red hair and taunting eyes, he paid little attention to the squawking radio. Wrenching his traitorous mind back to business, he stared into the night.

  Dana groaned as an ache passed through her body, the sinking and settling of the car trembling into her skin, her bones, her innards. She heard the rat-tat-tat of the engine as it sputtered to an end. Creaks and groans emitted from Bertha like a dying person.

  Dana cursed. “Filthy, stinking, ass, creep, jerk! The bastard has killed my car!”

  Get over it. I’m still alive, aren’t I?

  She hadn’t blacked out, but her entire system felt shocked by the impact. She opened her eyes and gave herself a moment to assess damage. From the splintered windshield, slight upward tilt of the dash, and the crooked way the front doors hung on the car, she knew the vehicle was totaled.

  An odd calm swept over her, as if she had nothing to worry about but the anger bubbling through her. She shifted her arms and legs slowly. Nothing seemed broken. Full realization she’d survived the crash sent relief washing through her. Then a new fear stabbed her. What if that butthead is out there watching?

  She tried to smile around her trepidation. “This is a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Cummings.”

  Dana inched her body around to gaze into the darkness and groaned as a muscle in her back protested. She didn’t see any headlights. Good. Still, she didn’t feel safe. Should she play dead and stay in the car until help could reach her? Someone had meant to either hurt her or kill her, and if they watched nearby, they may already realize she’d survived the crash.

  She couldn’t see much in the darkness, but she unbuckled her seatbelt, fumbled through the glove compartment and found her cell phone. Marshall. She needed him now. She slipped the business card from her bra and squinted into the darkness, trying to see the tiny letters. Lucky for her the moon rose high and almost full, affording enough light for her to read. She dialed his cell phone, hoping she’d picked the right number to reach him. He could be anywhere. Her fingers trembled as she put the phone to her ear and waited one ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four. Please, please. Answer.

  “Marshall.” He barked the word out, startling her.

  “It’s Dana.” Her voice cracked. “I need your help.”

  “What? Where are you?”

  She gave him the location. “There’s been an accident. I’ve been run off the road, and I hit a tree. I’m not sure the bastard who ran me off the road isn’t still lurking around—”

  Marshall spilled a couple of vehement expletives. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. No—”

  “Don’t move, don’t get out of the car and stay quiet. Do you see anybody around?”

  She looked around and nothing but moonlight and darkness greeted her. “No. Maybe he’s not here.” Dana thought she heard noises in the background, then the roaring of an engine. “Where are you?”

  “In the Cherokee. Don’t hang up. I’ll be right there. I’m putting the phone down while I radio this in. Don’t hang up.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said feebly as she heard noises in the background.

  Less than a half minute later, though, the cell phone let out a beep, almost vaulting her off the seat in fright. Trembling, she looked at the display on the phone.

  “Oh, great.” Low battery. “Of course. Of course.”

  Then, as she watched, the phone blinked out. Served her right for not remembering to charge the thing. A full range of expletives, minus editing, spewed from her lips. When she felt somewhat better, she stopped.

  Minutes passed as she waited for Marshall. She didn’t like feeling this helpless, and decided if the maggot who’d run her off the road came near her, she’d break his neck. As the seconds passed claustrophobia entered her and she fought to hold it back. Trapped like a rabbit in a cage, she imagined eyes watching her from the woods, waiting…waiting…

  The predator would spring out and—

  “Stop.” She couldn’t let her imagination turn her into a weenie. Fear remained high, trickling into her system with a flight or fight response. Could her intuition be trying to tell her something?

  Maybe leaving the car wouldn’t hurt. Dana tried the driver’s side door and found it wouldn’t budge. She grunted as she pushed with everything
she had. Nope. Crawling over the middle console, she attempted to open the passenger side door.

  “Bertha, I swear if you don’t open—” The door protested with a wretched squeak, and she pushed it wide open. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  From the direction of town, lights bounced down the road, and she stiffened in apprehension. It could be the person who’d wanted to make road pizza out of her. Better to stay near the car in case she had to lock herself inside. No. If they came near she could run, not be trapped in the car. Wait. What if they caught her when she ran?

  Indecision played serious games with her mind as the headlights came nearer. Well, at least I have two choices. Barricade or run.

  Dana waited, strung on a high-wire tension she thought would make her scream. Quivers raced across her body in the cold mountain air. She rubbed her arms.

  Marshall’s car roared to a stop at the top of the embankment, and she heaved a sigh of relief. She’d never been so happy to see anyone.

  Marshall jumped from the vehicle, first-aid kit and flashlight in hand. At a speed that looked dangerous, he slid down the embankment. When he reached the bottom, Dana wanted to run to him. Instead, she stayed with her butt propped against the passenger door.

  His chest heaved a little from the exertion of careening down the hill. He marched straight toward her, and then she saw a look she never thought she’d see in a man’s eyes more than once in her life. When he’d gazed down at her in the bathtub after the tornado, concern had filled his expression. That same look reappeared, overlaid with a deeper worry. Seconds later, it transformed to angry.

  All ideas about rushing into her rescuer’s arms vanished as he stomped up to her. “I thought I told you to stay in the car.” He dumped the first aid kit on the ground. “Stubborn, pain in the—”

  “Well, excuse me. I felt trapped in there.”

  “I should have known you wouldn’t listen to me.” He held her shoulders gently, but irritation etched his face. “Are you hurt anywhere? That’s one of the reasons I asked you not to move.”