Sam didn’t respond. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He downshifted, eyes focused ahead. Her eyes flicked to the dashboard. There was no warning light showing, but they weren’t slowing down. Her breath caught in her throat. “What’s wrong?”
“No brakes.”
“None at all?”
“No, damn it.”
“The brake light isn’t on.”
“I know that,” he almost snarled.
Marly clamped her lips together. She couldn’t afford to distract him. This narrow stretch of road was posted at fifty miles an hour. Sam was doing close to sixty, and they were approaching a blind curve. Trees lined the road on both sides.
Sam tried the emergency brake, without success. “Hang tight, and pray no one is coming at us,” he said.
They crossed the double yellow line as they reached the curve. It wasn’t enough. Sam fought the wheel, trying to hold the car on the road. For just a moment, Marly thought he’d make it, but the bend was too sharp, they were moving too fast. The back end slewed. The truck spun as it clipped a tree.
Her eyes clamped shut, and she bit down on her lip to stifle a scream. The truck veered out of control. The bouncing, jolting roller-coaster ride lasted forever. She was flung against the seat belt, the side window, and Sam. Her arm struck something with a jarring thud as the vehicle began to topple down the incline, into the field below. Glass and metal gave way with brittle sounds as the truck tumbled and slid along its side.
It shuddered to a sliding, grinding halt, resting on the driver’s side. The abrupt silence was deafening. Marly lifted her head and opened her eyes. The windshield was a shattered vision of starred cracks and missing pieces. All she could see was the top of the raised hood, which had sprung open.
The seat belt pinned her awkwardly, painfully in place. She tasted blood and realized she must have bitten her lip. Glass shards littered the inside of the car. She twisted to look at Sam. His eyes were closed. Several small cuts laced his hands and his face. Wedged against his door, his head rested on the side window, which, miraculously, remained intact. He didn’t move.
“Sam?”
He didn’t respond.
Fear clenched her heart. She reached out to shake his shoulder. “Sam!”
His eyes fluttered open, and he groaned. Only then did she release the air trapped in her frightened lungs. “Sam, are you okay?”
He blinked, groggily surveying the scene. “Hell of a ride,” he muttered.
It was an effort not to throw up. She swallowed back the bile and tried to sound calm. “Personally, I prefer my rides in amusement parks.” She was proud of the control in her voice, even as she inwardly thanked God that Sam hadn’t died. “Are you okay?” she asked again.
“I think so. I’m just trying to absorb the fact that we’re still alive and not wrapped around some tree. My guardian angel must have called in a few favors.” He flexed his muscles one by one, as though testing for injuries. “Nothing seems to be broken. How about you?”
Marly experimented. Apart from a little stiffness, she felt okay. Nothing screamed in protest when she moved. She probed her puffy lip and decided it was the worst of her injuries. “Everything seems to be in working order.”
“Good. Let’s see if we can get out of here.”
Marly raised her head toward her door. It was shut snugly, slightly askew in its metal frame. They wouldn’t be opening that in any hurry. “How?”
“With extreme care.” He glanced from the window on her side of the cab to the shattered windshield. “Not much room in here to maneuver.” He released his seat belt with a sharp click. “I’m going to climb over the back. That rear window is designed to be kicked out.”
“It is?”
“Trust me.”
“What are my other options?”
Sam gave her a lopsided grin. “Stay in your belt until I’m over the seat. I’ll try not to kick you in the face.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Holding her shoulder belt, she pulled herself upward against gravity to give him as much room as possible. His boot nearly did catch her in the head as he went over the seat into the narrow back bench.
“Stay put until I clear this Plexiglas.”
“I don’t think I’m going anywhere for the moment,” she responded tartly. Sam didn’t bother to answer. He pressed his back against the driver’s seat and used his feet on the rear window. In minutes, he had popped the Plexiglas out of the way.
“Now let’s get out of here.”
Without Sam’s help, there was no way she would have made it out of the cab. She felt weak and shaky as he helped her through the small opening into the twisted bed of the truck. He lifted her down onto the grass, and for a long time she just stood in the field and stared at the remains of the vehicle.
Sam brushed at the bits of glass that clung to his shirt as he began examining the undercarriage of the car. He moved on to the exposed engine, not touching a thing. Eventually he turned back to her.
“You sure you’re okay?”
Marly brushed a strand of hair out of her mouth. “Peachy. Why were you looking at the bottom of the truck like that? And don’t you dare tell me the brake line was cut.”
He cocked his head to look at her. “Why not?”
“Because it’s trite, damn it. I’ve seen it done on every cop show on television. No one does that in real life. No one except a mechanic even knows what a brake line looks like. Besides, there’s no reason for anyone to have tampered with my brakes.”
A suspicion of a smile edged the corners of his mouth. “Come on. We need to flag someone down and get you to the hospital.”
“I didn’t hit my head, Sam. You don’t have to humor me.”
He did grin then. “Okay, but I hit mine, and it hurts like hell. Can we humor me instead?”
“Oh. I didn’t know. Let me see.” Contrite and embarrassed, she stared at him, really looking for the first time since the accident.
“I’m fine,” he said. “We’re both lucky.”
As he turned back to regard the truck, she saw the left side of his face. A bruise was forming near his temple, not far from his scar.
“You are hurt.”
“I told you that.”
She stuck out her tongue in a childish gesture of relief.
“Cute.” He grinned at her.
She stared at the bruise on his head. “Somehow, I think of you as invincible. The bruise surprises me.”
“Thanks. I think.”
All humor left his expression as they stood there. He studied her with an intensity that touched her soul. For just a moment, she felt connected to this man. Then he blinked, and the moment dissolved.
“Are you going to let me look at your head?”
He touched his hand to the site and probed tenderly. “It’s just bruised, Doc. Besides, I like seeing two of you.”
“Sam, don’t.”
His nod at the rebuke was so slight she almost missed it. “I must have smacked into the side window when we rolled.”
“I still can’t believe we rolled down the embankment.”
“Well, we sure didn’t float down on a cloud of fairy dust.” They both regarded the scene. “I’m just damn glad this was such a big, sturdy old truck and we were wearing seat belts.”
“Me too.”
He pulled out a white handkerchief and wrapped it around a cut on his hand that was bleeding.
“Want mc to take a look at that?” she offered.
“Nope. Superficial. There’s no glass in it”
“It should be cleaned.”
“See any first-aid stuff lying around?”
“There’s some in the truck.”
Sam nodded toward the crumpled metal. “Want to climb back in and find it?”
She shook her head.
“Me either. Think you can make it to the road?”
She eyed the uphill grade. It wasn’t a mountain, nor even a steep hill, but there wasn’
t a chance. She suddenly felt shaky and extremely brittle.
“Of course I can,” she lied.
Sam grinned, one of his cocky I-like-you grins that warmed her heart and made her think she could do just about anything with this man at her side.
That was a scary thought. Much too close to emotions she wasn’t ready to explore. For the first time, she realized that not only had he helped her out of the truck, and gotten himself out, as well, he was still holding his much-battered Stetson in his other hand. She seized on that fact as they started walking.
“Do you sleep with that hat on?”
Sam laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that warmed the cold places inside her. He tapped her nose, still chuckling. “Only if I can’t find a better companion. We’ll talk about it tonight. Come on.”
A thrill of excitement coursed through her. Tonight. That sounded like he planned to stay. Like he planned to share the night with her.
She all but snuggled against the strength of the arm he slid about her shoulders, because her legs had turned to overcooked noodles. Shock, she decided. Now that everything was over, her body was reacting with a giant case of nerves. Getting to the road seemed a colossal task.
Sam made it easy. She liked the feel of his arm around her far more than she should have. “Was the brake line cut?” she asked finally to keep thoughts of him at bay.
“Maybe not, but brakes don’t quit all of a sudden like that due to any natural condition I know of. There should have been some warning that something was wrong.”
“I don’t believe it.” But she did. Someone had tampered with her truck. Sam didn’t reply, and together they staggered onto the shoulder of the road.
“Why would someone do that?” she asked.
“Why would someone want to hang a baby goat in your barn?”
She forgot her rubbery legs and her aching muscles. A hot surge of pure anger swept through her. She pulled free, planted her feet and glared at Sam. “The goat is one thing, but we could have been killed in that accident”
“This just occurred to you?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. I’m not thinking clearly yet. But I want him arrested,” she announced. “I want the person who did this found and hanged. Then I want to spit on his grave.”
Sam tipped his head, looking both amused and appreciative at the same time. “Bloodthirsty wench, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
“Do that. And after we find out who did this and he’s dead and buried, I’m going to relocate. Someplace where the suburbs aren’t encroaching.”
“Utah’s nice,” Sam said mildly.
“Okay. I’ll look there. Will you come with me?” The words were out before she could stop them. “Sorry. I forgot.” She turned and started walking.
“Marly—”
“Don’t, Sam. We both know this attraction for what it is.”
“We do, huh? What is it, exactly?”
“A chemical attraction,” she said in exasperation. “You’re a cop and I’m a misplaced cowgirl.”
He scratched his jaw, looking perplexed and amused at the same time. “What the hell do you mean, a chemical attraction? You like my after-shave?”
“You know what I mean, you’re just fishing.”
Sam tipped back his hat, his dark eyes regarding her. “Am I catching anything?”
She forced a smile. “You can tease all you like. I still think you’re sexy as hell.”
He paused, a comical expression of astonishment on his face. “You sure pick your moments, lady.”
“Timing is everything.” She shrugged, and quickly wished she hadn’t. Between the well and the car wreck, her muscles were annoyed.
They walked several more feet in silence. She wondered what Sam was thinking, and she was mildly surprised that no cars had passed them yet. “Who tampered with my brakes, Sam?”
“Someone who knew what he was doing.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Like you said before, messing with brake lines isn’t something a novice can do. You’ve got more than one line, and a gauge to tell you when your fluid level drops below a certain point.”
“The warning light for the brakes didn’t come on,” she pointed out.
“Exactly, yet none of the brake system worked after we stopped to talk.”
Marly thought about that for a few minutes. “Was it the same person who killed Porterfield?”
“I think that’s a logical assumption.”
She concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other. “Thinking is a little beyond me at the moment. I’m just responding and reacting. Shock, you know. I think I’ve had one too many. Chris runs away, I find myself suspended over a bottomless well, Porterfield gets murdered, and someone screws up my brakes. This is much worse than a bad hair day.”
Sam chuckled and gave her shoulder an avuncular pat. “What do you know about Carter and Jake?”
That brought her to a complete standstill as his meaning struck her. “You think one of them—?”
He rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’m just exploring possibilities.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t like those possibilities. Carter’s been with me a long time. I’ve relied heavily on him since my marriage fell apart.”
“He wants you.”
“I know.”
She started walking again more briskly. Sam lengthened his stride to keep pace beside her.
“It’s become a problem recently,” she admitted. “We had a long talk on the way back from the hospital. It wasn’t pleasant. I know Carter was angry, but he wouldn’t have fooled with my brake lines.”
“He’d know how.”
Surprised, she could only nod. Carter did a lot of tinkering on the older, red pickup truck. She wasn’t sure how Sam knew this, but maybe Carter had mentioned it.
“What about Jake?” Sam persisted.
“I doubt if he even knows how to open the hood. He’s a horseman.” At Sam’s frown, she shrugged, and again wished she hadn’t, as several muscles complained. “Jake’s not so bad. Surly, and a bit cocky, but he’s a good worker and he’s great with horses. He used to be a jockey, a long time ago.”
They walked a bit farther before Sam broached a new subject. “How did you come to be privy to inside police information?”
She tilted her head in surprise. “I’m not. I was only asked not to say anything about the murder.”
“Why? It was on every television station in the metropolitan area.”
“The murder was, but not his real identity.”
“What are you talking about?” It was Sam’s turn to come to a standstill at the side of the road.
Taking in his expression, she realized they hadn’t been communicating very well. “I thought you knew,” she said softly.
“Apparently I don’t know squat.” He pinned her with his dark eyes. “You’re saying Rayback had another identity?”
“His name wasn’t Rayback. His name was Kramer, Matthew Kramer.”
Sam’s face hardened to granite. “I figured Kramer was your maiden name—that you took it back after the divorce.”
“No. You didn’t kill Alan Rayback.”
“I didn’t kill anyone!”
Flustered, she stared at him. Had she once thought his eyes were safe? They were obsidian and ice right now. “Don’t you remember? I told you my husband—ex-husband—was a cop. He was working undercover.”
“A cop?” To say Sam was stunned would have been a granddaddy of an understatement. This time, her hand went out to steady him, noting the tenseness of the muscles bunched beneath the material of his jacket. Sam didn’t even seem to notice her hand. “You never said he was a cop.”
“You really didn’t know.” The fact was somehow frightening.
He shook his head, never taking his dark eyes from her, but she didn’t think he was actually seeing her.
“Matt was on loan to the D.C. force. He’s actu
ally a Montgomery County cop. Was a cop,” she amended. It was hard to think of him as dead. And the man standing next to her, the man she was so impossibly attracted to, was the man accused of killing him. How absurd.
“Did he work for internal affairs?”
“I don’t think so. While we were married, he mostly worked vice.”
Sam stood for several long minutes before he started walking again. She could almost hear him trying to fit things together. “Did Rayba—your husband—know Porterfield?”
“I doubt it. Matt wasn’t around much last summer. We only shared joint occupancy because his lawyer told him not to move out, but he was seldom home. Matt didn’t approve of my youth program.”
“But Porterfield could have seen him?”
“I guess. It’s possible, I suppose.”
“Your husband was rather distinctive, with that shock of white hair.”
“Ex-husband.” She tried to curb her bitterness. “Yes, he was distinctive, all right. He looked like a young John Forsythe. Women found him devastating.”
He tipped his head in her direction. “Yourself included, I presume?”
“Once. It didn’t take me long to discover how hard it was to compete with his most adoring fan. His mirror.”
Sam’s lips quirked, and she turned away in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to say that.”
“Why not? It was the impression I got, too. A real lady-killer.”
“Yeah. That was Matt, all right. But he was a good cop, Sam.” She felt compelled to add that last, because whatever else Matt might have been, he’d been proud of the work he did.
Sam reached for her hand. His touch was warm and reassuring. “I assume, since you worked together, Bill at least knew what your husband did for a living?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“So when he saw Rayback up close, chances are he would have recognized Rayback as your husband.”
“If he ever saw Matt, I’m sure he would have.” It was obvious where Sam was headed. “You think Officer Porterfield killed Matt?”
“Yeah. Bill must have removed the evidence from the evidence room before he learned Rayback’s real identity. He would have panicked when he realized it was a trap. He came into the bar, handed us the story about internal affairs, looked for an opportunity to frame one of us, and I conveniently gave him an immediate opening. The rest, as they say, is history.”
Man Without A Badge Page 13