Gone Duck

by L. L. Muir

  Shawn looked at her as if he thought maybe she was the true imposter. “You were jogging?”

  She tried to give him a little warning look. “Yes. You know how we've just been sitting around the hotel for days on end. I was just stretching my legs.”

  He tilted his head. She was beginning to hate when he did that.

  “Keefer? Mort? Who are you?”

  “Very funny.” She shoved him away from her and headed for the van, slinging off her backpack as she went. She wished there was a bottle of water tucked inside it still. She climbed in the van and refused to make eye contact with anyone.

  “You want to get in the back row?” Dave asked. “So you won't be seen?”

  “Nope. Tinted windows. I'll be fine.”

  Gammon and another jostled each other climbing to the back row, silently letting her know it would have been much easier for them if she would have done as Dave suggested. She resisted the urge to respond. It wouldn't have been pretty—not that she felt particularly pretty at the moment with sweat dripping along her scalp under her hair.

  The joy of exercise once again eluded her.

  Shawn climbed in and scooted onto the middle seat with her. Dave got in the driver’s seat and Kofford climbed in the passenger side. Both of them donned painter’s masks.

  “No,” she said to herself, trying to sound like a man. “Nothing suspicious here.” Then she laughed.

  Shawn gave her a stern look, then leaned forward. “Did you drug her?” he asked Dave.

  “Of course not. Look, buddy, I’ve done all I promised, haven’t I? When are you going to believe I’m on your side?”

  Shawn shrugged. “I appreciate you getting us out of the hotel. You were right. They would have nailed us for sure if we’d been together.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So I had a bad idea. I get it.”

  Shawn frowned at her again, then leaned close to whisper in her ear. “What’s wrong with you?”

  She frowned back, then cupped her hand around his ear to whisper back. “I’m just a little giddy I guess. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” Then for no reason, she suddenly burst into tears.

  “Babe?” Dave said, nervously. “Shawn. What the hell did you say to her?”

  She recognized the rescue-mode in Dave’s voice. It just made her cry harder. She had absolutely no control. All she could do was ride it out and hope Shawn was still there when she stopped.

  He put his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. “Maybe she’s just relieved to be out,” he lied.

  A long minute passed with her making the only sound in an otherwise silent vehicle. Finally, Dave turned on some music, and the men all sighed in unison.

  All cried out, she straightened away from Shawn and sat up. She needed a tissue, but the van’s black interior revealed nothing. Not so much a piece of lint, or a straw from a fountain drink. When they turned the van back to whomever they’d leased it from, it probably wouldn’t even have fingerprints left behind, let alone stray fibers or DNA.

  She zipped open her backpack and started digging. If she found so much as a sock, she’d be happy. But there was nothing small besides a pair of lace panties, and she wasn’t about to pull them out to share with The Boys, even if she had snot running down to her chin. Then she remembered the little pocket behind the flap. She’d put a small wrapper of tissues in it after a gas station stop. It was also the last place she’d put the duck before the old trucker-woman had chucked it out her window.

  She zipped the pocket open and reached inside. No tissues.

  Only a rubber-freaking-duck.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “Gaaah! That's disgusting!” Gammon said from behind her, after watching her blow her nose into the crotch of the lavender lace panties and shove them back into the backpack.

  “They were clean,” she said, defensively. “And maybe that will teach you to mind your own business.”

  Shawn's brows knit together with a combination of concern and horror, his back against the door.

  She rolled her eyes and gave him a wink.

  He actually winced.

  She gave him a fierce frown and urged him closer with a crook of her finger.

  He wasn't happy to comply, but he did. When he was close enough, she pulled his head down to whisper in his ear.

  “You didn't…check…all the little pockets,” she said, then sat straight and waited for him to figure out what she'd meant by it. A full minute passed with no response, so she opened the flap of the backpack, while keeping her eyes on the road, and pointed to the little zipper. She finally had to nudge him and look down. His hand moved over and opened the pocket, then ventured inside and froze.

  She looked into his eyes. He stared back in shock. She shook her head ever so slightly. He nodded once and covered the action by rolling his head around his shoulders and doing a little neck pop.

  She zipped the pocket closed and wondered if he was remembering what he'd said about the backpack, how she should cling to it like it still contained the duck.

  The thought popped into her head on its own. Had he known?

  She looked at him sharply. He frowned sharply like he had read her mind then shook his head once. She relaxed, gratified they'd been able to carry on the entire conversation in silence. They were in agreement. They wouldn’t share the information with Dave. Their little duck was an ace in the hole and they were going to keep it between themselves.

  Suddenly, she had enough energy to jog around another parking lot.

  “This is it,” Dave announced and pulled off the freeway, taking the airport exit.

  She looked at the high fences and worried. “Lacrosse isn't watching the airport?”

  “Don't worry, babe. We've got this covered.” Dave took another exit with signs for small aircraft. “We're taking a small plane to Calgary. From there, a private jet to Belgium. You're going to love it.”

  Shawn was frowning again. “Hey, buddy. What have you done with Dorothy Jean?”

  Dave flipped him off over his shoulder and pulled into an open hangar. There was a small plane inside and beside it, sitting in a camping chair, wearing a men's blue jumpsuit and sipping on a sprite, was a laughing Dorothy Jean. Unless it was the bald old man she’d been dressed up like. But Macey doubted an old man would have covered his head with a peach floral scarf. The back of it flapped in unison with a small U.S. flag on a pole at the corner of the little hangar. The woman was definitely enjoying her release from Davenport Prison even though one of The Boys stood beside her, most likely armed.

  Macey was hit with another heavy wave of relief. Dave was right. He'd done everything he'd promised. She felt horrible for doubting him, and yet, her gut told her to trust Shawn's instincts. He'd done everything he'd promised, too.

  Besides the pilot, the small plane could only hold five of them and the luggage Shawn and Kofford had been able to bring from the hotel. When they climbed aboard, she prayed silently that Gammon wouldn't be the fifth man. But it was Kofford who filled the last seat.

  In a farewell salute to the creepy man, she blew him a kiss...off her middle finger.

  Shawn watched, shook his head, then leaned back and went to sleep. Dorothy Jean had already beaten him to it and snored from the back row, next to Kofford. After they were in the air, Macey nodded off, still feeling like everything from that moment on was a bonus she couldn’t complain about.

  ***

  “Here's your passport.” Shawn nudged her awake. It took a second for her to reconcile the face with the voice. He was still wearing the stupid nose, and the little extra flaps of skin near his eyes. “Read it. Put the wig back on.”

  She looked over his shoulder while he studied his own. He didn't look anything like the guy in the photo, with or without the nose. She opened her passport. A Latino woman. Fernanda Ortega. 5'2”. No way would anyone believe it was her.

  “Don't worry, babe.” Dave smiled from the co-pilot seat. “We've got people on the ground. You're
a couple of bigshots from Hollywood, trying to evade the media. You're using borrowed passports, but you're harmless. And you're taking your grandpa along because he's never been able to travel.”

  She gasped. “We're going to walk through customs? With our photos all over the place?”

  “No. Customs is going to come to us.”

  Tension rose in direct proportion to their descent into the Calgary airport. All Macey could do was hold on and pray until it was over.

  Shawn pried her hand from the armrest between them and rubbed her fingers. “Nothing we can do now, right?”

  “Right. Our fate is definitely not in our hands.”

  “So, no need to stress, right?”

  She laughed. “I won't if you won't.”

  He looked down at her hand and licked his lips. “I can distract you a little, I think.” He glanced up, but his gaze stopped at her lips.

  She sat up a little straighter. “Oh? How's that?”

  He smiled and released her hand. She hoped whatever he had in mind was good, because the hand massage had been pretty distracting on its own. He lifted the armrest and it disappeared between their chairs. She got pretty excited by the possibilities.

  “You going to massage more than just my hand?”

  He shook his head. “Just two things.”

  Her eyes widened uncontrollably. She opened her mouth to protest, sure she knew just what two things he had in mind, but he pressed a finger to her lips.

  “These two things.” He ran that finger along her top lip, then her bottom.

  “Oh. That's okay, then.”

  He nodded slowly. “I thought you would approve. Now, turn around and face the window, then lean back and turn toward me. For once, we're going to get this right.”

  She did what he said, then realized he was brilliant. “Just how many times have you...in a plane...”

  “Stop thinking,” he growled, and pulled her into his arms.

  Their mouths had been melded together for a few blissful moments when Dave protested.

  “What do you think you're doing?”

  Shawn broke the kiss to answer. “Working our cover, buddy. Remember? It was your idea.” His lips returned to hers, thankfully.

  “Look. You're steaming up the windows,” Dave whined. “You're going to kill us all.”

  Everyone chuckled, so she didn't think they were in danger. And she definitely didn't allow Shawn to look up and check visibility either.

  He did pull back, however, when the plane hit a little turbulence. “I think we'd better cool off for a minute before we have to get off the plane.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. You want to be able to walk in a straight line, don't you?”

  She sighed and nodded half-heartedly.

  He snorted and lifted her away from him. She saw her reflection in the window. Black hair. Swollen lips. If she could add a current picture to the passport, no one would believe she was Macey McDaniels.

  She got her seatbelt back on just a heartbeat before they touched down. The cabin was dark as they taxied to a strip of small hangars much like the ones they’d left in Spokane. If it weren’t for the unmistakable flatness that stretched all the way to the horizon, she would think they’d been tricked into returning to Washington. If it were a nightmare, they’d be taken back to the Davenport.

  When the plane finally stopped just outside the last hangar, they were met by two black cars with flashing red lights.

  “Don’t worry,” Dave said again. But he didn’t sound like he believed it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  During the flight, Macey had helped Shawn move his cash from his backpack into hers along with a second, small handgun she hadn’t known about.

  “Trust me,” he’d said.

  And with officers waiting for them at the bottom of the steps, she suddenly remembered the little warning that played over and over again in airports, warning people not to let anyone con them into carrying something in their luggage that wasn’t theirs.

  Dave stepped around them and climbed down first, his enchanting smile already in place. Every officer on the ground broke out into a grin.

  “Dave Wells, at his finest,” Shawn grumbled in her ear.

  “Lucky for us. Now, try to act like you’re in love with me.”

  “Done,” he murmured, kissed her behind the ear, then on the neck. His hand snaked around her waist and he pulled her back against him. “Don’t drop the backpack, but let it dangle behind you. Maybe they won’t notice it.”

  She would’ve liked to stay right where she was, enjoying his nearness and the sensations he aroused from her hairline to her toes, but real life was waiting along with some well-armed people.

  She descended steps with Shawn at her back. At the bottom, a smiling officer directed her to the right where a table had been set up. The luggage from the back of the plane was already being loaded onto it and being picked through. Dave stood off to the left, arguing with one of the Canadians. The man shrugged and shook his head.

  “Looks like Dave doesn’t have things so organized after all. If we’re arrested, don’t say anything. No name. Nothing. Don’t ask for a lawyer. Just stay where they put you until I can buy our way out.”

  “With no money?”

  He laughed and kissed her neck. Everyone stopped and stared at them.

  “Your backpacks please.” The officer gestured to an empty space on the table. Reluctantly, they laid all three packs in front of him. The man reached for Dorothy Jean’s first.

  “The medications all belong to my grandpa,” Macey said. “He’s eighty.” She hoped that would explain why there were so many.

  He looked closely at one of the bottles. “Your grandfather is named Dorothy?”

  “I prefer to be called Dotty,” Dorothy Jean grumbled from behind them. Her bald look was incredibly disturbing with her red, bowed lips. They were lucky the light in the hangar was dim or she might have scared someone.

  They handed Dorothy Jean her backpack, then asked if she had her passport. Macey was pretty sure the passport wouldn’t be for anyone named Dorothy or Dotty.

  “Yes, I have it.” Dorothy Jean held it up.

  “Good,” the man told her. “You can put it away now.” He glanced sideways at the officer who stood with Dave. The other man nodded, then accepted a thick envelope, which earned him another Dave smile.

  The man behind the table opened Shawn’s pack next and pulled out a pair of boxer/briefs, his basketball shorts, a t-shirt, and a familiar leather coat. Dave suddenly appeared and picked up the jacket. “A little small for you, sir.”

  “It’s hers.” He pointed to her and smiled. “I love you in this jacket.” He took it from Dave and helped her put it on. Since he was no longer snuggling up behind her, the chill of the metal building filled with Canadian air, was finally registering.

  “No cash?” Dave looked surprised.

  “It’s been an expensive trip.”

  His old friend laughed. “I loved how you charged your fifteen hundred dollar room to Lacrosse’s card.”

  Shawn laughed too. “They’ll have a hard time proving it’s not his signature.”

  Dave sobered. “Really, dude. I thought you would have socked away a lot more than that.”

  “Didn’t you hear?” Macey chimed in. “We were robbed by a couple of truckers.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s right,” Dave said. “The guys who threw away the duck.”

  She tried not to let her nerves show, but she couldn’t believe they were just standing there, chatting away while she waited for her bag to be dumped out in front of everyone. What would Shawn do when they found the money in her bag? Would they confiscate it? And if they pulled out the duck, Dave would see it. No more ace in the hole.

  The officer stuffed the clothes back into Shawn’s backpack, then reached for the last one.

  “You might not want to do that,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

  The officer’s eyes wide
ned. “Why?”

  Shawn turned to her. “Do you want to tell him what you did?”

  The man pulled his hands back, but waited for her answer.

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. He was going to humiliate her, but he might just save their bacon in the process.

  Shawn cleared his throat, but it didn’t completely disguise his amusement. “She blew her nose…on a pair of underwear…” He glanced heavenward, mortified. “And shoved it back in the bag.”

  “There was no tissue,” she whined. “I had no choice.”

  The officer scrunched his face and pushed the still-closed pack toward her. “Do you have your passports?”

  “Yes.” They both pulled them from their pockets and held them up.

  “Thank you. You may put them away now.”

  And just like that, it was over.

  ***

  Dorothy Jean jumped on the offer of a private room in the back of the plane where, after take-off, she’d be able lie on the bed and sleep all the way to Belgium if she liked. Macey suspected the room was intended more for mile-high club members than tired old women, but she happily helped Dorothy Jean get settled into one of the seats at the foot of the mattress. Besides, having yet another private space to hide with Hot Shawn was probably a bad idea.

  She stepped back into the main cabin and found only Kofford there, playing with his phone. The cockpit door was open and she could clearly see only the two pilots inside.

  “Where’s Shawn? And Dave?” she asked Kofford.

  He nodded at the open door that led down to the tarmac. “One of those security guys wanted an autograph. Dave went with him.”

  “Why? Who do they think he is?”

  Kofford shrugged.

  The plane began powering up, and her heart raced, imagining the impossible—the plane taking off without Shawn. She started for the door, mentally noting she was carrying her backpack with her so he wouldn’t worry that she’d left it on the plane unattended.

  They weren’t anywhere near the plane. Though the engines continued warming up, she simply couldn’t leave without him, not after they’d already made it through so many gauntlets together.