Dangerous To Love

by Chevon Gael

  "It's already too late."

  She shook her head. “No, it's not. You can't be a part of this. Turn your car around and go home. Forget you ever saw me. I'll ask Mike to drive me."

  "No!” He tightened his hold on her until she winced. He relaxed his grip on her and looked up over her shoulder. “Mike's gone.” There was a margin of triumph in his voice. “And we're not going anywhere until you and I have a little talk and get a few things straight. Carter is taking your daughter home ... oh, don't look at me like that, Tara. I'm not blind. The badge in my wallet doesn't belong to an idiot. I already have a theory worked out as to why you're up here."

  Tara eased out of his grasp. “Pray, enlighten me, Constable."

  Brett shook his finger at her. “Don't sit there like a pouting child or start with the sarcasm. You have no idea how much trouble you're in. And before you go off the deep end and blame Carter, he didn't tell me anything I didn't already know.” Tara sat and listened while he gave her the account of her flight from Chicago.

  "And except for the plate thing, I've been able to piece a lot of this together."

  Tara slumped into the seat, defeated. They'd been so careful. If only she hadn't fallen asleep. What really stung was that, for the most part, he was right. It wasn't Carter's fault. She'd been careless. She had no one to blame, but herself. Instead of accepting his offer to drive her to Rachel's, she should have headed for the highway and started walking. One way or another, she was going to be in court on Monday.

  "You going to arrest me?"

  "I might."

  "What?” Panic and terror clawed at her insides. His words were like the jaws of a steel trap snapping shut around her.

  "A little confinement might make you talkative."

  He didn't mean it. Or did he? Tara regarded him closely. There was little evidence in his face that she had tempted him only moments ago. He'd pasted on that policeman's poker face, the one that annoyed Rachel so much whenever Carter pulled it on her. She let her gaze drift to her lap and tried to formulate a plan. She could try to jump out of the car and run. She wasn't wearing her seat belt, but he was much too close to her. She could plead the use of Molly's bathroom and try to slip out, but he was probably right in that Mike was already gone. In fact, she noted that the parking lot was nearly empty of cars and bikes. She didn't have a lot of choices. She licked her lips and flipped her hair over her shoulder. At the same time she let her other hand slide down to rest on the door latch.

  She turned to him and conceded defeat. “I'll tell you on the way,” she offered. “But first let me go to the bathroom and work on this mustard stain. Okay?"

  He sat back in the driver's seat, arms crossed and appearing cool and in control. Because he was. “Sure. It's not like you've got anywhere else to go."

  Tara made a move to step out of the car when she felt his hand around her arm. “Five minutes, no more. I'll be waiting right here."

  An ominous scratch of metal on metal made Tara turn around. Brett was absently clicking a handcuff ring open and closed. There was no need for him to say anything else. The warning was clear. Tara fought the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

  "Bully,” she mumbled and shook him loose. She stalked across the pavement to the bar. The clock inside told her it was late afternoon. Even so, the formerly sunny July sky had become dark and foreboding. Molly was on the phone, so Tara pointed to the ladies’ room. The woman didn't so much as acknowledge her. She passed the windows which gave her a view of the prairie fields behind the building. A lone pickup was parked near the exit door. Probably Molly's, she thought. Then she thought again. There might be a way, if opportunity presented itself.

  She found she did have to use the toilet after all and was washing her hands when the door creaked open a crack and a male voice echoed inside. “I'm in the men's room next door. Order us a sandwich or something to go. There's not a lot on the highway for the next hour or so."

  "Yes, sir,” she snapped and wadded up a paper towel. She threw it at the closed door, then kicked it out of her way as she left.

  She found Molly at the bar. “The boss wants some food."

  "Better tell him to hurry. I just got off the phone with the Blind River detachment and there's one hell of a prairie fire that's got the Trans Canada closed between there and Winnipeg.

  Tara paled. “How far is that from here?"

  "Oh, an hour. Don't worry though, Carter called Rachel before he left. He's meeting her in Brandon tonight since you're going to be late, so he won't even be going that way. But they're evacuating everything from Blind River back to this way."

  Tara's mind worked quickly. “Uh, Molly, do you have a jack in that truck out back? We've got a flat and Brett doesn't have a jack in his car."

  Molly reached under the bar and handed Tara the keys. “Help yourself, kid. While you're doing that, I'm going to fetch you something to eat. You and Brett better head northwest to the detour and ... never mind, I'll tell him when he comes out."

  Tara snatched up the keys. “Thanks.” She kept a watchful eye on the door of the men's room and waited until Molly disappeared into the kitchen. She made a dash toward the men's room, grabbed a chair and propped it against the door. Then she ran for the rear exit.

  She ran like hell to Brett's car. Thank heavens he hadn't locked it. She wrenched open the driver's door and dove for the floor. It only took her a second to find the ignition's connecting wires. One hard yank rendered Brett a non-threat. Ironically, it was one of the few things she'd learned from Roman that turned out to be useful.

  She slammed the door and sped to the rear of the building and her means of escape. Her mind vaguely registered a door banging back on its hinges so hard it hit the wooden facade. A woman's shouts. A man's curses. An engine roaring to life, the gears grinding as the old truck struggled to keep up the urgent pace of its driver. Her own heart threatened to slam right through her breast. The tires squealed to her command as she floored the accelerator. The air around her became an envelope of dust. In the rearview mirror, she could see spitting gravel behind her as she tore out of the parking lot. Through the swirl of dust she saw the tiny bar fade away.

  And one very angry cop running hell bent after her.

  CHAPTER 7

  "Son of a bitch!” Brett shouted and kicked the gravel in frustration. He was angrier than he'd ever remembered being. Even more angry than when Gillian walked out and left him with nothing but the sheets on the bed. And then he'd been more relieved than anything.

  But this hot-headed, hot-tempered, hot-bodied little hellion! He should have cuffed her and tossed her pretty ass in the cruiser and dumped her in a cell until immigration showed up. He should have...

  "Your car's no good, ace."

  Brett whipped around to find Molly standing behind him, looking ... well, annoyed wasn't exactly the word. Nor was she angry, panicked or any degree of ticked-off. In fact, she hadn't even cut a sweat.

  "You're pretty cool for someone who's just had their vehicle stolen."

  "Well, first off, I got me a cop right here so I can file a report. Second, the damned truck is older than I am and I hope I never see it again. And thirdly..."

  She held up a red plastic gas can. “Thirdly, the tank's damned near empty. She won't get far. I've already called Wolfson. He's sending a car."

  That's just great! Brett raged as he thought about how he was going to explain this to Wolfy. And he didn't have long. Less than thirty minutes later he was facing six feet of stone-faced wrath. Sergeant Wolfson Oglethorpe, a career man, a legend, a nightmare. The touches of white through his blond hair and moustache made him almost seem grandfatherly. Brett knew different. He paced and talked and talked and paced. The sergeant's eyes never moved from his notebook. He sat ramrod straight in a wooden chair, listening to Brett's explanation. Molly brought him a club soda and he merely nodded his head in thanks.

  "So, the redhead gave you the slip.” Brett knew the stinging rebuke would be the first of many.
“Not so innocent as you first thought.” Brett fought the urge to bang his head on the table. The worst was yet to come.

  "Your ‘gut instinct,’ as you called it, is racking up the points.” The sergeant stared down Brett through solid brown eyes as he grasped the stylus from his hand-held and started tapping the table. “Let's see, first we've got immigration involved if she's up here illegally. Then there's Customs and Revenue if she's selling that stuff you confiscated. Now there's organized crime if the DeMarco family crosses the border. A car with stolen plates, a stolen truck, not to mention your car being vandalized. That's worth a few years up here easy. You don't have to worry about immigration deporting her now. Sounds like she wants to stay with us for a while."

  Brett had no defense. He'd been caught with his pants down. Nearly. “I know it looks pretty bad..."

  "Looks bad? Boy, I could transfer your ass up to Tuktoyaktuk for the rest of your life. Six months of daylight. Sub-zero temperatures all year round. Perfect weather for freezing your ass off while you babysit polar bears feasting in the local garbage dump. Sound like a good career move?” There was only the echo of an empty beverage glass against the top of the table.

  "No, Staff Sergeant!” He snapped to attention, hoping to dispel the specter of Arctic hell. To a field officer, it was a fate worse than death.

  "Find her."

  "Yes, Sergeant!"

  "Take my car.” He all but threw the keys at Brett.

  Brett knew the discussion was over and got up to leave.

  "Sinclair?"

  Brett turned, stealing himself for one last shot. “Sir?"

  "Make sure she doesn't steal my car."

  * * * *

  "Brilliant, Tara. Frigging brilliant.” Tara tore a strip out of herself and continued to plod down the deserted highway. She had long since abandoned the useless truck. “Why couldn't I have stolen something with gas in it?” She lifted her hair off the back of her neck. It was like a dead weight now that the air had turned suddenly humid. It was twilight, but in the distance, Tara could see dark clouds gathering. They looked fully blown, ominous. It would only be a matter of time before she was soaked to the skin. She looked longingly down the empty highway. Nothing for miles but acres of flat grassland. She was thirsty, hungry, tired and desperate.

  There was a bright flash in the distance. Lightning? The thought made her more than a little nervous. She'd be the perfect conductor out here on the prairie. A warm wind lashed her skin. There was something odd about the smell that filled the air. It smelled ... smoky. Maybe the lightning had struck something on the ground and set it to blaze. She squinted into the distance. Sure enough, what she thought had been a flash of lightning became a steady glow. She was a lot closer to the fire than she first thought. Now she realized it wasn't storm clouds she'd seen on the horizon, it was smoke billowing up from the ground and filling the sky.

  She did an about-face and started running back toward the truck. Then she stopped dead. Carter! Was Molly right? Did he make the detour into Brandon? She made a frantic dash back in the direction of the truck. At last she could see the outline of something by the side of the road. She could make out the truck, but then realized another car was behind it. It wasn't a highway cruiser. Then she decided she didn't care as long as whoever it was could drive her to the nearest phone.

  She ran toward the car, waving her hands and yelling. “Hey, I need some help."

  A lone figure stepped from behind the truck so quickly that Tara ran right into him. A heartbeat later, she lay sprawled on her back on the hood of the car. A heavy warm body covered hers. Her arms were pinned over her head. She didn't need to wait to hear the angry voice to know who had ambushed her.

  "You need help? Do you know how much it's going to cost me to fix my car, you redheaded little snake? You're not giving me the slip again."

  Brett held both her arms with one hand and slipped the cuffs from his belt with the other. Tara struggled fiercely, trying to make him understand.

  "Th-the fire. Carter. I need to call..."

  "They're fine! They went to Brandon. It's the long way around to Winnipeg in the opposite direction. Our guys have the roads closed anyway.” While he talked he flipped her over on her stomach and slipped the hand-cuffs on her. Then he hauled her to her feet.

  "There. Now let's see you slide out of those.” He led her to the car, ducked her head and placed her in the back seat. He fastened the seat belt around her. “One word of warning, lady. This is my sergeant's car. My boss, get it. Screw up here and I'll take you back to Chicago myself. Oh, now I suppose you're going to cry. It won't work. They teach us Crying 101 in training."

  "Y-you b-bastard!” She wasn't going to cry. She was crying. Out of frustration, humiliation and partly from relief. Kerry was safe. She was going to Winnipeg. Nothing had really changed from last night. Had it? Just a few hours ago, he kissed the life back into her. Now he was treating her like a criminal. Why not? I am a criminal or at least I will be by the time this is over. It didn't help. She tried to hide a sob by coughing. She hung her head, turning her face so her hair shielded her tears from his view. He'd been right so damned many times that he was getting on her nerves.

  He left her alone for a few minutes while he filled Molly's truck with a spare gas can. Then he settled himself into the driver's seat.

  "One of our guys will pick up the truck. By the way, you owe Molly one hell of an apology.” He turned the car around, then onto a gravel side road. Tara no longer cared where he was taking her as long as the road ended in front of Rachel's house.

  They drove along in silence for a while. Eventually, Tara looked up. It was pitch dark outside and she had nothing to focus her attention on except the erect salt-and-pepper covered head in front of her. She stole a glance in the rearview mirror. Gawd! She looked awful. Drippy nose, red eyes, hair matted from being wet then tossed around. She looked away. She'd get out of this, she promised. She had to for Patrick's sake.

  "You hungry?"

  His words startled her and it took her a moment to answer him.

  "Never mind, don't talk to me. Well, I'm starved and I'm tired. Now listen very carefully because I'm only going to say this once. There's a small motel about a thirty minute drive from where we are. We're going to get a room, something to eat and then I'm going to bed. And you're coming to bed with me. And if you give me the slightest bit of grief, you'll spend the night in the back seat of this car."

  Tara was speechless. “You-you mean we ... that you and I ... are sharing the same bed?"

  "Of course."

  He'd said it so quickly that it seemed to her that he did this kind of thing every day. “But-but why together? Why not..."

  "Because, my little escape artist. I doubt you'll get very far handcuffed to me. And if you keep me awake, I'll cuff you to the bed. One way or the other, I'm going to get some sleep."

  Tara stared into the rearview mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of Brett's face. Surely he couldn't be serious. Instead, the image of Brett sleeping naked in his bed was all she could see. She looked beside her at the wide expanse of the back seat she occupied. The words he uttered to her in the heat of passion this afternoon returned to haunt her. Have you ever had a man in the back seat? Tara swallowed at the thought of her and Brett tussling in the back seat of his boss's car. The motel room and sharing a bed with him was her only alternative.

  An hour later, Tara was desperately trying to think of another alternative. It was raining by the time they arrived at the small motel. And Brett wasn't kidding. Six rooms and a soda dispenser was what they called a motel on the prairies. But, it was roomy and clean. And the tiny restaurant that also doubled as office and living quarters for the owner served good food.

  Tara wolfed down an omelet and club sandwich like it was the finest pasta in Chicago's Little Italy. Brett even treated her to a beer. He removed her handcuffs while she ate, although he never took his eyes off her while he devoured a large steak and a platter of fries. He'd eve
n thought to bring her suitcase when he switched cars, and Tara rejoiced at the idea of a hot shower and a change of clothes.

  Brett stood over her while she sat cross-legged on the floor of their room and opened her suitcase.

  Tara kept the lid down and stared up at him. “Do you mind?"

  "Yes."

  Tara craned her neck up to see him towering above her, hands folded across his chest. His long legs were flush against her back. The top of her head brushed his thighs. She could feel the heat of his nearness. She turned her attention back at her suitcase.

  "I'd like some privacy,” she murmured.

  "Not a chance. You've already proved you can't be trusted. From now on, I'm your clingy little shadow.” He was grinning at her, daring her to do otherwise.

  Tara kept the contents of her suitcase away from his prying eyes as much as possible. She felt around for her essentials, brush, comb, toothbrush, nightwear, envelope. She paused as her fingers touched the paper. An idea began to take shape. So, he wanted to play dirty. She could do dirty to the nth degree.

  "Would you like to see my portfolio?"

  * * * *

  The question caught him by surprise. Was she actually offering to reveal the contents of the envelope? Perhaps there was something else beyond the photos. He still hadn't seen the identity of the picture concealed in the locket.

  He waited while she pulled out the photos, and only the photos, before replacing the envelope back in the suitcase. Whatever else was in there would have to wait until she was in the bathroom. The word “search warrant” tried to invade his conscience, but it fought back with its own justification in the phrase of “probable cause."

  She handed him the pictures and got up off the floor. She carried her toiletries to the bathroom and closed the door.

  "Hey, this doesn't lock,” she called.

  "No it doesn't,” he agreed. “I jammed it."

  He smiled and waited for her response. And was just a little disappointed when she didn't rant and rave at him. He was getting used to her being in a perpetual state of hysteria.