Impulse could have been her middle name if her mother hadn’t been so partial to Amelia, and another time, she would have followed the urges of her newly awakened libido and done a quick U-turn right there and then.
But this wasn’t just anytime. This was the day after she’d discovered secrets from the past that she’d never even dreamed existed. Uncle Hank had done a very thorough snow job, she reflected, torn as she had been much of the past day between resentment and appreciation. If she was having trouble handling this now, how would she ever have coped then? Or at thirteen or eighteen? Perhaps her uncle had planned to wait and tell her the truth at the right time, only to discover as the years passed that there was no right time for such a thing.
There was only now, and now that she knew the truth, she had to accept it and go on. She would, she mused, confident of her own resilience. She also knew, however, that it was going to take all the emotional strength and energy she possessed to get centered once again. If there was a safe time for her to have a fling with a man like Bolt, this surely wasn’t it.
She arrived home a little over an hour after dropping off Bolt. She’d agreed to call him as soon as she got there to let him know she was safe. If she expected him to do more than thank her for calling, she was disappointed. The husky undercurrent of desire that had been in his voice earlier was gone and replaced by a familiar note of military crispness.
Automaton, she muttered as she dumped the receiver in the cradle and ambled off to bed.
She managed to sleep in spite of the coffee, her dreams filled with castles and white lace and Bolt. She woke up from one so vivid she opened her arms and reached for him, expecting to find him stretched out beside her, his hands moving over her naked body, his smile slow and seductive the way it had been in her dream. She sighed when she realized she was alone and rolled over to check the clock and see if it was time to call Gator.
She was eager to get rid of the car. Having such a gigantic reminder of Bolt parked right outside her front door wasn’t what she needed right now.
She needed to put Bolt and men in general out of her mind entirely and concentrate on making peace with the past...starting with Uncle Hank, she thought. As soon as she’d dropped off the car, she would give him a call and ask if he wanted to come for dinner tonight.
* * *
Gator sounded immensely relieved to hear from her.
“What the heck took you so long?” he demanded.
“I’d hardly call this a long time,” she retorted, irked. “Besides, you said there was no hurry.”
“There wasn’t really. But I sure didn’t expect you to...” He paused. “Did you end up taking a friend along?”
“No,” Cat replied, deciding that Bolt wasn’t exactly a friend.
“No?”
“No. Look, it’s a long story and I’m sort of in a hurry to get this over with.”
“Oh, now you’re in a hurry.”
“For heaven’s sake, Gator, give me a break, will you? I’m tired and ornery and I have a zillion things I need to take care of for myself today,” she told him, staring at the bag of film from the trip and the grocery list she’d made. “Just tell me where to bring the car.”
He told her about a service station a few miles out of town. Grant’s, he said it was called.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if I just...forget it,” she added, deciding that perhaps LaCompte wanted a mechanic to take a look at it right away. In that case it would make more sense for her to bring it directly to the station than to his place. “What kind of station is it?” she asked. “Shell? Exxon? So I’ll know what kind of sign to look for.”
“Just Grant’s,” he replied, the edge of impatience still clear in his voice. Cat rolled her eyes, thinking old laid-back Gator was certainly taking his responsibility here seriously. You’d think he was the one driving the car. “I don’t think there is a big sign or anything. Don’t worry, follow that road and you can’t miss it. I’ve still got your car here, so I’ll drive that out and meet you.”
“Fine, then I can give you a ride back to the shop.”
“Yeah, well, don’t worry about that.”
Cat shrugged, as if she had the time and energy to take on any additional worries at the moment.
She showered and dressed and headed outside to the car. She found herself feeling surprisingly nostalgic as she drove, savoring the feel of the wind in her hair for the last time. In the short time she’d been around the Chevy, she’d developed a real fondness for it. If she had the money, she wouldn’t mind owning it herself. It sure would bring back memories, she mused, both bad and good. Maybe that was the way it ought to be. Maybe life was never meant to be a fairy tale, and the bad times were a reminder to savor the good.
When she left the freeway and turned onto the road Gator had told her about, she was certain either he or she had made a mistake somewhere. She was in the middle of nowhere, with what looked like farmland and orchards all around and no one in sight to ask for directions.
She reached over and hauled her faithful tote bag onto the seat, fishing around in it for the notebook in which she’d written the directions as he gave them to her.
“Oh, no,” she groaned, realizing she must have run out and left it by the telephone. Her unlucky streak continued, she thought.
Keeping watch for a phone booth, if such things existed that far from civilization, she drove on. At last, just as she was about to give up, she saw up ahead what she supposed could have passed for a service station in another era. Set back off the road, in a patch of weeds and dust, was a low building with a few old-fashioned, rusty-looking pumps out front. Cat frowned as she drew closer, thinking it had been a few years since those pumps had seen any action.
This was where LaCompte wanted his very expensive new toy dropped off? Must be, she decided, shrugging, since the sign out front—hanging from only one bolt so she had to turn her head sideways to read it—confirmed that this was Grant’s, just as Gator had told her. Of course, when she factored Gator into the equation, she really shouldn’t be surprised by anything.
As she swung into the lot, she raised a cloud of dust that made her wish she hadn’t put the top down that morning after all. She drove over to the side of the building, where her car was parked alongside a shiny new Cadillac. LaCompte’s, she speculated, eager to get her first look at him. Coughing, she climbed out of the car and glanced around.
As she stood there, debating whether or not to lean on the horn, the door of one of the garage bays lifted and Gator appeared. His long blond hair was in its customary state of disarray, his hands thrust in his jeans pockets, sunlight glinting off the gold hoop in one ear.
“Good,” he exclaimed. “You’re here.”
“In the flesh,” Cat replied, her gaze moving past him as she struggled to see into the darkened garage.
“Great flesh it is, too,” he drawled, whacking her playfully on the butt, which earned him a decidedly unplayful glare from Cat. He grinned sheepishly. “What can I say? I missed you, kid.”
A slight exaggeration, she was certain, but Gator was one of those characters she liked in spite of herself.
“Looks good, looks good,” he said, circling the Chevy. “Keys?”
She tossed them to him. He opened the trunk and quickly shut it again. “Great.”
Cat failed to see what was so great about an empty trunk to make him grin idiotically, but she’d learned not to question whatever floated Gator’s boat from moment to moment.
“Here are the keys to your chariot,” he said, holding them out to her. “Uh, it needs gas.”
“Gee, thanks.” She looked around. “Isn’t this supposed to be a gas station?”
“Not that kind of gas station.”
“You mean the kind where you can buy gas?” she countered, deadpan.
“Right. Cheer up, though, at least you can afford to fill the tank...with high-test, yet,” he added. “Here’s a check for what’s due you, plus a nice little bonus to co
ver expenses. This way you won’t have to submit any receipts or anything like that.” He grinned. “Receipts are so bourgeois.”
“That reminds me,” she said, recalling the close call involving receipts at the border, “how do I make sure the car registration is taken out of my name?”
“Relax. Tony will take care of all that. He’s got connections.”
She didn’t doubt that for a minute. She’d been so excited to have the job that she hadn’t thought too carefully about all the details beforehand. Now that she’d had time to reflect and, she was forced to admit, had the benefit of Bolt’s take on matters, she shared his view that the whole deal was a little murky. She was glad it was over with, for more reasons than one.
Gator moved as if to return to the garage. “Thanks a mill, kiddo. You done real good.”
“Gator, hold on.” She sidled closer to him and angled her head toward the garage where she thought she could make out two men standing off to the side. “Is that LaCompte in there now?”
He looked surprised by the question. “Uh, yeah, actually, it is.”
“Can I meet him?”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. He’s kind of—”
“Shy?” she suggested sarcastically.
“Private. That’s it. He’s a real private guy.”
“Well, seeing as I just drove his precious car all that way I think the least I can do is say hello to the man.”
Gator caught her arm as she spun toward the garage. “Trust me on this one, kiddo. It’s a bad idea. LaCompte can be downright rude when he wants to be.”
He grinned. The man was impossible and irresponsible, but he had a grin that could chase clouds away and launch a thousand ships.
“Go home, relax and think about how you’re going to spend all your money,” he advised.
“Right. You mean think about which bill to pay first,” she grumbled, reluctantly allowing him to escort her to her car.
He opened the door and waved her in with a flourish. “That sounds like fun too. Ciao, baby. I’ll be in touch.”
Cat started the engine and frowned as the fuel arrow barely moved above the warning line. Gator wasn’t kidding about its needing gas. She rolled down the window to give him a little more flack about it, but he was already moving the Chevy into the garage. She felt a small pang at seeing it disappear inside and the heavy door roll down.
“So long, pal,” she muttered under her breath. “It was fun while it lasted.”
She pulled onto the road with her fingers crossed that she’d make it to a real gas station before the car hit empty. The little car’s engine coughed and sputtered before achieving a measure of smoothness. She already missed the sweet purr of the old convertible, and the surge of power when she tapped the gas pedal, and the roomy comfort of those wide-open seats. And she missed looking over and seeing Bolt’s long, strong fingers resting lightly on the wheel, making driving look as effortless as he did everything else. When you came right down to it, she missed Bolt.
To be expected, she assured herself, and altogether temporary.
She hoped.
She was all the way back to the highway when she remembered Soldier Bunny.
She’d tucked him down into the side well for the spare tire and forgotten all about him when she unpacked the trunk this morning. Without another thought she did a sharp U-turn and headed back to Grant’s.
The Caddy was still there when she got back. So, she thought with satisfaction, she was going to get a glimpse of the elusive and difficult Mr. LaCompte after all.
As she approached the closed garage door, she heard loud noise from within, like the sound of a motor. They must be already working on the car, she mused, wondering what could have required such immediate attention.
She knocked on the door and then, when she got no response, pounded on it with her fist. Still no one came, and Cat reasoned that if the noise was that loud out here, it must be worse inside, surely loud enough to keep her from being heard.
She bent and grabbed the metal door handle, trying to lift it, but to no avail. It was either locked or rusted or just too heavy for her. Glancing around, she saw the door to what must have at least at one time been the office and went to try it. It opened easily and she walked inside.
Her timing was impeccable, although not necessarily fortuitous. Just as she stepped into the bay area of the garage, the noise ceased and a man wearing a protective mask of some sort and holding what looked like a fancy drill shouted, “Eureka.”
Gator was standing at the other side of the trunk, armed with a similar mask and drill. “And then some,” he added, whistling through his teeth. “Mother lode city, here we come. All right, grab that side and let’s take a look.”
Cat took a step closer and realized that what she took for drills were actually electric saws with long narrow blades, and that they had just sawed through the bottom of the trunk for some reason and were about to remove it.
“What on earth...”
She stopped and froze as together Gator and the other man lifted a sheet of metal the size of the trunk bottom, revealing neat piles of money packed beneath it. It wasn’t merely the size of the trunk floor, she realized, it was the trunk floor, or at least a phony one intended to hide the money...money smuggled in from Cuba and then over the border into this country. By her, she realized in panic.
Gator had shoved off his mask and was staring at her in angry disbelief.
“What the hell are you doing back here?” he demanded.
“Funny, I was just about to ask you the same question. What are you doing? And where did all that money come from?”
Gator glanced anxiously at something over her shoulder.
“Is this the broad who drove the car?” asked a smooth, deep voice.
“Sure is,” Gator replied. “The one and only Cat Bandini. Cat, meet Tony LaCompte.”
LaCompte stepped out of the shadows, a tall, well-built man whom she could easily dislike. He had slick written all over him, from his well-cut hair to his shiny loafers. He looked like a man who liked getting what he wanted in life and didn’t allow anyone to get in his way...especially not broads dumb enough to smuggle money and cars for him.
“Ms. Bandini,” he said, nodding. “You should have taken your friend’s advice and gone home when you had the chance.”
When she had the chance? Meaning...what? Cat wondered frantically. She was too afraid to ask.
“I...I forgot...something.”
“This something?”
LaCompte held up Soldier Bunny.
She nodded.
“Ah, Cat, over a stupid toy?” Gator said.
“It’s a souvenir,” she explained feebly.
“I would have brought it to you. You should have listened to me and gone home.”
“Okay, then, I’ll go now.”
“Stop her,” LaCompte ordered.
Ignoring him, she whirled around and ran smack into the human equivalent of a brick wall. She hadn’t seen the third man move, yet there he was behind her without his drill or mask, blocking her escape.
“Hi, sugar,” he drawled, smiling down at her. “Long time no see.”
It was the man from the rest stop, the one who’d helped her when Bolt had loosened the wires on her car.
So Bolt had been right, she thought with a sick feeling that was quickly forming a knot in her stomach. None of it was merely a coincidence, after all.
Oh, Bolt, she thought as she felt Gator move in behind her, why didn’t I listen to you?
Gator quickly jerked her arms around to the back, his grip hard and unyielding. As he wound a rope around and between her wrists, she tasted fear at the back of her tongue.
Oh, help me, help me, she prayed. Please help me, Bolt.
“I tried to warn you,” Gator said in a sharp voice. “I told you that you coming in here would be a bad idea, a real bad idea.”
Chapter Thirteen
General Hollister clapped Bolt on the sh
oulder.
“A job well done, Bolt. Yes, indeed, a job well done. Not that I expected anything less from you, of course. You’re still the best.”
Shrugging off what he considered undue praise, Bolt turned away and moved to perch on the corner of his desk. The general was comfortably ensconced in the comfortable leather chair in front of him. He had come directly to see Bolt when he arrived at the office and learned Bolt was back to work, demanding a full report on what he referred to as “that little assignment.”
Several times since he’d finished telling him, Bolt had to tame a wry smile that was threatening to erupt any second. He wasn’t convinced his former commanding officer would be so quite so pleased with the way things had turned out if he knew that Bolt’s involvement with his niece had been considerably more than protective in nature, and that it was far from over.
He had no intention of keeping his feelings for Cat a secret from the older man indefinitely. He just felt it only fair that he should give her time to adjust to the idea that she was his before he sprang it on the only family she had.
“I owe you one for handling this, Bolt,” Hollister said, “and I won’t forget it.”
“You took care of my files while I was away, General, that makes us square.”
“Bah.” Hollister dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “I just handed it all off to Robertson.”
“Did I hear my name?”
Tom Robertson, who’d been with the firm about six months longer than Bolt, stepped into the office.
“I was on my way to the fax room and I heard someone mention my name. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” General Hollister said brusquely.
Bolt reined in another smile. It was common knowledge that though the general relied heavily on Robertson’s compulsive expertise in a number of areas, he had no patience for it.
“But I heard—”
“I was saying,” Hollister said loudly enough to drown him out, “that you pitched in to handle Bolt’s work while he was away.”
“Yes, I did. I have all the files in my office...updated and diaried in chronological order,” he added a bit reproachfully. Bolt just smiled. “I’ll have my secretary bring them to you right away, Bolt. If I had known you’d be back today I would have been sure to—”
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