“Let’s go.” He struggled to his feet, pulling her with his good arm. There was definitely smoke in the air, thin tendrils of it just beginning to drift under the door from the office area.
Obviously they wouldn’t be leaving that way.
He bent and grabbed the handle of the garage door, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Is it locked?” Cat asked.
The fear in her voice made him determined to keep it from his own.
“Jammed from the outside is my guess.”
He turned and the Chevy was right in front of him.
He quickly glanced inside for the keys that weren’t there. So Gator wasn’t as dumb as he looked.
He shoved Cat into the front seat and quickly opened the hood. His earlier work under there paid off now. It took him almost no time to locate the right wires and cross them to start the engine.
Slamming the hood down, he slid behind the wheel and revved the engine.
“Get down and stay down,” he ordered Cat, twisting to look over his shoulder as he stepped on the clutch, shoved the shift into reverse and stepped on the gas.
The old car punched a giant hole in the solid wood door, leaving the metal framework twisted and bent.
It didn’t matter, since thirty seconds later the whole sorry mess went up with an ear-shattering boom that sent Cat straight into his arms. Where she belonged.
Say what you want about the sleek design and fuel economy of fancy foreign imports, Bolt thought as he sat with his head thrown back on the seat, staring at the bluest sky he’d ever seen. When his back was to the wall, he’d put his money on good old American-made steel every time.
Chapter Fourteen
The cast on his right arm prevented Bolt from holding the telephone receiver with that hand, so he anchored it under his chin instead. His left arm was occupied, curled around Cat’s shoulders as she sat on his lap on the sofa in her apartment.
“You’re sure the police have all three of these characters locked up?” the general asked him.
It had been less than ten hours since the close call at the service station, but already it was beginning to take on an air of unreality for Bolt. Probably the result of repeating the details so many times for so many different police officers and federal agents and now in this phone call to the general. Cat and he had agreed it was best to wait until the ordeal was over and they were finished at the emergency room and police station to call and fill him in about what had happened.
“Actually, sir,” Bolt replied, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the seductive movement of Cat’s hand on his thigh, “I believe the three of them are in federal custody. Since the money in the trunk was counterfeit and originated in Cuba, the Feds have jurisdiction.”
“Good. Because if I have any influence there, and believe me I do, they’ll be out of commission for a long time.”
“I don’t doubt that, General.”
“Counterfeiting, smuggling, arson, assault, attempted murder...”
As he listened to the general tick off their offenses, he lifted Cat’s subversive hand to his lips and sucked gently on the tip of one finger.
“I think we’ve got a bad connection,” the general said. “I hear static.”
“Could be,” Bolt agreed dryly. “Maybe I should let you go.”
“First put Cat back on,” the general ordered. “And, Bolt?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Thanks. For everything.”
“No thanks necessary, sir. I’d do it again in an instant.”
“I know you would, boy,” the older man responded warmly. “Why do you think I sent you out on this one in the first place? When it matters most, you send the best.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, General. Here’s Cat.”
Cat sighed resignedly as she took the receiver from Bolt. She had already spoken at length to her uncle, assuring him that she didn’t have a scratch on her, thanks to Bolt, and that there was really no need for him to drive down tonight to make sure of that.
Instead she’d suggested he come for dinner the following night. It seemed as good a time as any to tell him that he would be seeing a lot more of Bolt outside the office in the future.
She might even get a chance to ask him some of the questions about her parents that no longer seemed quite so pressing or volatile. They had made their compromises in the name of love, and she would gladly make hers.
She rested her head on Bolt’s strong chest and listened as Uncle Hank told her for the umpteenth time to call him if she needed anything, anything, during the night.
She smiled wryly. Uncle Hank had no way of knowing it yet, but if she needed anything during the night from now on, help would be very close indeed. And she would be there for Bolt, as well. Though something told her his bad dreams were behind him for good.
“Are you nervous about tomorrow night?” she asked Bolt when she had finally managed to tell her uncle good-night and hung up the phone.
“Not as nervous as I am about tonight,” he replied, stroking her back through her robe.
“Tonight? Why?”
“I want it to be as perfect as the night at the castle. I want to make every night that perfect for you, and I’m not sure a lover with a broken arm, wrenched back and pocket full of pain pills is up to the task.”
“Then maybe,” she countered, turning and sliding her leg so she was straddling him, “you ought to just lay back tonight and give me a chance to make it perfect for you this time.”
Her soft voice was itself a caress of his senses, and the sweet pressure of her hips against his was pure magic. Bolt already felt more assured of the night ahead.
“The last time was perfect for me,” he told her, sliding his hand under her and pressing her closer. He swept her hair aside and nibbled her throat. “Every time with you will be perfect for me. I already know that.”
“You seem to know an awful lot all of a sudden.”
He grinned lazily. “I guess I do, at that. For instance, I know you’re not wearing anything under this robe.” He loosened the tie at her waist to prove it, and she smiled and let him. “I know that any minute now I’m going to carry you into that bedroom and—”
“Carry?” she interjected dubiously.
He slid his good hand inside the robe and fondled her breast. “On second thought, maybe we could just spend the night here, after all.” She warmed and firmed to his touch and made a small sound of pleasure deep in her throat. “I also know that someday soon I’m going to ask you to marry me and you’re going to say yes.”
Cat could feel his heart pounding beneath her hand where it rested on his chest. In spite of his attitude of lazy self-assurance, she sensed the apprehension in him, and the need.
“Smart man,” she murmured and watched a slow, sexy smile spread across his face.
“Thank you,” he whispered, running his hand along her waist and up and down her back. “Oh, Cat, I never thought I’d find you. I’ll never let you go.”
“Promise?”
“With every part of me...forever.” He bent his head, touching his tongue to her ear and blowing lightly. Shivers ran along her spine. “You’re my fairy tale, Cat,” he told her. “My happy ending. My soul mate.”
“If such things exist,” she said quietly.
“They exist,” he said, his tone certain and unyielding. “How else do you explain my knowing you were in trouble and that you needed me?”
“Instinct,” she replied. “Experience, training. All the things you thought you’d lost or had failed you.”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t instinct that caught me in a spell this morning in my office. It wasn’t experience that made me burn up inside when I saw you in that garage, or training that gave you the strength to help me when I needed you.”
“Then what was it?” Cat challenged, wanting and needing him to make her a believer once again.
And he did.
“Destiny,” he said, and with that one word, his final word on the
subject and for the night, he gave her back a dream she could believe in forever.
* * * * *
ISBN: 978-1-4592-8822-5
Joyride
Copyright © 1995 by Patricia Madden Coughlin
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