by Diana Layne
“Officer . . . Johnson,” Tasha said, pausing just long enough to read his nametag, “I can’t exactly hold both my hands in the air.”
The policeman, with hard eyes under bushy black eyebrows, looked as if he could easily be tempted to use Cy for target practice. “Put the dog down. Raise your hands.”
“I don’t really think that’s a good idea.”
“Do it.”
When Tasha complied, Cy went nuts, running toward Officer Johnson, snarling, grabbing his leg. “Ouch, get him off.” He shook his leg and motioned to another cop, the combination of movements making him look as if he were doing a strange new dance. “Get this damn dog now before I shoot him.”
The second cop bent over and tried to grab Cy, but the dog turned on him and snapped his finger between sharp little teeth. “Shit.” The cop jerked his hand away and jumped back. “Shoot him,” he ordered.
“Um . . . really that would be so messy. I should hold him instead,” Tasha said, her voice resounding with an I-told-you-so kind of resignation. Her calm was amazing given Cy’s life looked to be very close to ending. MJ knew it was an act and Tasha would take out the cops single-handedly before she let them kill her dog.
“Do it slowly,” Officer Johnson agreed.
Tasha knelt and scooped up the dog.
While Tasha picked up Cy, MJ spotted Ben out of the corner of her eye. He was staring across the street through the open door.
MJ followed his gaze, looking past the fourth officer who stood framed in the open doorway. Across the street, in the fast food play yard, a woman holding Angel stood watching them.
“Angelina,” MJ whispered, her heart ripping. She grabbed hold of the only hope she could grasp at the moment. She’d done nothing wrong. Okay, maybe impersonating the nurse and the B&E was illegal, but killing those men had been strictly self-defense.
Come to think of it, none of the cops had mentioned why they were there waving their guns around like drunk cowboys.
MJ, feeling it was better to deal with the known than unknown, asked them. “Why are you here? What do you want?”
“We have warrants for two women. MJ Thornberg. Tasha Shivko.”
Yeah, well, there it was out in the open.
“May I see the warrants?” Ben asked, sounding genuinely curious.
As if. MJ firmly believed Ben had ratted them out. He was the reason cops were here. The reason it was going to take her longer to get Angel.
If that woman was even his mother. Most likely she was an agent from Vista. It was entirely possible that by the time they were processed and released from jail, Angel would be lost in the foster system, never again to be seen.
MJ’s heart stuttered. She braced her legs to steady herself. That couldn’t happen. Somehow she had to keep that from happening.
Damn Ben.
“So we’re under arrest?” Tasha asked, while Ben looked at the warrant.
Officer Johnson blinked. Tasha’s question seemed to momentarily stun him. Surely they didn’t do things so differently in Oklahoma. A warrant equaled arrest, right?
After giving the impression of mulling the question over in his mind, Johnson answered. “Yes, ma’am, you are. You’ll need to find something to do with that dog so we can cuff you.”
“Looks like everything’s in order,” Ben said, handing the papers back. “But with this dog situation, why don’t we meet you at the station later, and you can make the formal arrest then? That way we’ll have time to take the dog to a safe place.”
“Since you’re not under arrest, why don’t you just take the dog yourself, or else I’ll call animal control?”
Ben lowered an eyebrow, obviously remembering a few minutes earlier he’d been on the wrong side of Cy’s teeth himself.
“Get his leash,” Tasha suggested. “I’ll hook it on him and you can hold him while we leave.”
“Careful there,” Officer Johnson said, watching Ben. Of course the other three policemen couldn’t be ignored either.
Once Ben had the dog, snarling and snapping at the end of a tight leash, one of the other cops holstered his revolver, briefly patted Tasha down before pulling her arms behind her to cuff her wrists together. He repeated the procedure with MJ.
So where were their rights? MJ kept quiet knowing that could be a minor technicality that would set them free.
But not to be. He Mirandized them as he led them to the unmarked squad car. He opened the back door.
Tasha slid onto the back seat first. “It’s very cold out here, could we have our jackets?”
Officer Johnson instructed another cop to get their jackets while MJ followed Tasha into the car. The cop with the jackets tossed them into the backseat and slid into the front passenger seat. MJ didn’t catch the name on his tag, but this one had sandy blond hair that looked in need of a good haircut. Not nearly as neat and professional looking as Officer Johnson with his dark military style hair, his mustache well trimmed.
“Sir, if I could ask you a few questions?” MJ heard one of the remaining two policemen say to Ben before Officer Johnson slammed the car door shut.
Immediately she looked for Ben, standing in the doorway, still holding Cy on his leash. They rather matched, man and dog, she thought. Both with dark eyes and dark hair, both dangerous, and yet both capable of being very cuddly. MJ smiled.
“Glad you’re so cheery about this,” Tasha said.
“You know that old saying, it’s easier to smile than frown.” MJ didn’t want to tell Tasha she’d been smiling over Ben and that damn dog.
“Okay, honey, you keep on smiling all through the time they book your ass for murder.”
The smile dropped off MJ's face.
* * *
“Sure,” Ben said in response to the officer’s request to talk to him. “Let me go lock the little dog into the bathroom.” He turned around and headed into the room, followed by the cop. Cy snarled and snapped, fighting the leash. Damn, what did Tasha see in this dog? Ben dragged the little furball behind him, hoping he could get him through the bathroom door and lock the door behind him. After the remaining two policemen left, he’d call his mom. She had a way with animals as well as children.
Ben began to make plans. Not only was he now left with a kid and a dog, he’d have to go to the jail and make bail for MJ while being careful to not get caught himself for the Amber Alert. No, maybe he better have his sister take care of springing MJ from jail. He supposed he’d have to ask his mom to help a while longer.
For now, he didn’t want to answer police questions until he had the dog locked in the bathroom. “Should just take a minute for me to get this little dog in the bathroom so I can answer–”
Ben caught a glimpse of an upraised arm out of his peripheral vision. Before he could turn or step away pain exploded.
Then the world went black.
* * *
Ben’s mother, or the woman pretending to be Ben’s mother, still held Angel from inside the play area at the fast food restaurant. MJ hungrily watched her baby as they drove by. Oh, Angel, when will I get to hold you again?
MJ remembered back to the first time she’d seen Angel, held the warm wiggly body. No, she didn’t need those memories; she drew herself back to the present before she got lost in the past.
“She’s probably not even his mom.” She spoke quietly, aware only a cage separated them and the two policemen in the front seat.
“You’re convinced lover boy set us up?” Tasha asked in a voice just as quiet.
MJ hated like hell that Tasha phrased it that way. Made her feel stupid all over again. Because she had started considering him trustworthy, or at least hoped. Just a little. Boy, she sucked at judging men’s character. Seriously.
“I don’t see any other explanation.”
“At least this one didn’t try to kill you.”
“You’re cruel, woman. But right.” MJ shot her a dark look. “Did they mention why we’re under arrest?”
“I don’t think they
did. Seemed like they were struggling to simply remember what they were supposed to do,” Tasha said under her breath.
MJ agreed with that assessment and was tempted to say more when something jumped out at her. “Didn’t we just pass the road the police station is on?” she said, still careful to whisper. They’d driven over in this area when they first got to town.
Tasha stared back at the road they passed. She turned back to MJ, one eyebrow arched.
“You know you just missed the turn to the police station?” Tasha asked. “Do you book somewhere else?”
“Yeah,” the cop in the passenger seat laughed. It wasn’t a sound MJ liked. “We book somewhere else.”
MJ and Tasha stared at each other. ‘Set up’ their gazes said to each other. Somehow or another, something wasn’t right. Either these cops had been paid off. Or there was another possibility. They weren’t really cops at all.
MJ’s stomach dropped. She so did not need this.
Tasha looked grim.
The cop car looked real. There was a cage between the seats. No handles on the inside of the back doors. Perhaps these were fake cops, and they bought a car at auction. Which honestly would be the best of the two bad situations.
If they were real policemen who were on the take, it would be harder to get away unscathed. Things could get ugly quick if they had to kill a real cop to escape . . . no question, it would be life or death because real policemen wouldn’t let them walk away alive, not wanting the two women to be able to testify.
With the sun dropping lower in the afternoon sky behind them, it became obvious they were heading east out of town. Toward the foothills of the Ozarks. As they drove on, the road eventually rose at a gradual incline, and the car suddenly started slowing.
“What’s up?” the sandy blond cop in the passenger seat asked. “Forget something?”
“Nah, the car’s losing power.”
Tasha looked at MJ. She came to attention.
“I’m going to pull over here and call for back up."
Officer Johnson pulled to the side of the road, killed the engine and got out to make a phone call. MJ noted he didn’t use the police radio in the car, which had been eerily silent the whole time. After speaking on the phone for a few minutes, his gaze zeroed in on MJ. He disconnected the call and come back toward the car. He opened the back door.
“You’re a mechanic?”
Who’d told him that? MJ cocked her head, thinking a little more information would be useful. “That’s my day job.”
The cop in the passenger seat chuckled.
“Shut up, asshole,” Officer Johnson said.
Just who were these guys?
Johnson reached in, took MJ’s arm. “Come look.”
“The prisoner looking at the cop car? Highly irregular don’t you think?” Tasha said. “Probably illegal.”
“Probably is,” Officer Johnson agreed. He tugged on MJ. “Get out.”
“Are you kidding? It’s freaking cold out there. I don’t even have on my jacket if you haven’t noticed.” She pulled her arm out of his grasp. “Besides, I don’t need to get out to tell you what’s wrong.”
“What? Are you some psychic mechanic?” the sandy-haired wannabe cop drawled. “The car speak to you?”
MJ was glad the guy wasn’t a policeman after all. She was going to enjoy taking him down. For now, though, she ignored him.
“Make sure the heater is off, and then start the car.”
Johnson—MJ could no longer think of him “officer”— got back in and cranked the key. The car started as if nothing had been wrong.
“What the–” sandy-haired wannabe cop said.
“Not only am I psychic, I’m magic too.”
He turned to glare at her. She gave him a tight-lipped insincere grin while Tasha stuck out her tongue.
“It will run out of power again,” MJ said, “and faster if you use the heater. The alternator’s going bad.”
“So we can keep driving?”
“You might have to stop every few miles, but yes, you can.”
“What about calling for a back-up car?” Tasha asked.
MJ shot her a look, Tasha smiled. They’d both figured out these guys weren’t cops, but Tasha was being troublesome.
Both men ignored her.
“We’re close enough, we’ll keep going,” Johnson said.
MJ looked around. Close enough to where? They’d left the business section miles back, and now they appeared to be leaving civilization. Especially when less than a mile later, they made a turn on a winding road, more red dirt than gravel. The road grew increasingly steep as they drove further up into the foothills.
The car slowed, then died again.
“Almost there.” He got out, made another phone call.
“Can we put our jackets on here? It’s getting cold,” Tasha complained.
Tasha had a point. The air did have a definite chill up here at higher altitudes away from civilization. MJ was wearing a sweatshirt but she could feel chill bumps developing on her arms.
“Let’s try this again,” Johnson said, climbing back into the car. “We’re close enough to walk if it won’t start.”
Walk? Well, maybe if they were walking, they wouldn’t be so cold.
“An alternator will be here in an hour, and you can change it,” Johnson told MJ.
Oh, yeah? “Who exactly are you working for? It’s obviously not the Tulsa PD. Why are we here?”
“You’re on a need to know basis. And that’s something you don’t need to know.”
Wasn’t he just too cute. Not. More than likely the long term plans for them weren’t very long term and involved a sudden brutal death.
The thought didn’t distress her. She’d been in life or death situations before and come out alive, if not a little scarred and battle worn. Just yesterday in fact. Or was it day before? Her days were running together she’d been so long without sleep. Mentally, she sighed. Another day at the office.
But with Tasha on her side, she’d rather face a life or death situation than have to wrangle with the legal system over keeping Angelina if real cops had been involved.
The odds of making everything work out were suddenly better.
But who had set this up? Had Ben really been involved?
At last a small wooden cabin came into view. The car sputtered and died about a hundred yards away from the front door.
The phony cops got out of the car, each opened a back door. MJ made certain to read the sandy-blond cop wannabe’s name tag. Cantrell. She was tired of thinking of him as the sandy-blond cop wannabe.
“What rustic accommodations,” Tasha murmured, sarcasm dragging her tone down to a low timbre.
MJ grabbed her jacket, but holding it and wearing it were two different things, and her teeth started chattering. Tasha seemed calm and collected and MJ wondered if anything ever ruffled that woman.
They marched at gunpoint up the wooden front porch steps and inside, which was only marginally warmer than the outdoors.
“Nice. Early hunter.” Sarcasm lowered MJ’s voice as well. Deer antlers, a bear head and a large mounted fish decorated the walls. A rust colored vinyl couch and two matching easy chairs sat around a . . . “Bear skin rug?”
“I like your decorator. I must have his name.” Tasha plopped down on the vinyl couch and puffs of dust floated in the air around her. With a ‘do you fucking believe this’ look tossed to MJ, Tasha turned to the men and asked, “Now what?”
“Ladies, welcome to your new home,” Cantrell said. “At least for the next few hours.”
Hours, not days. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen fast. Especially since the sun was on the down side of the day. Good. She hated long waits.
Johnson knelt down to start a fire in the fireplace. And maybe they’d get warm in the meantime.
“Does your momma know you’ve chosen a life of crime, Billy boy?” Tasha asked curling her feet under her on the couch.
MJ t
ook a careful seat on the sofa arm and shot Tasha a look. So did Cantrell.
“My name’s not Billy,” he said.
“Oh, sorry, Officer Cantrell. You look like a Billy Bob to me. So what about that life of crime?”
He frowned. “What the hell you talking about? I ain't breaking no laws. And you leave my momma out of this,” he growled.
“Last I heard it was illegal to impersonate a policeman. Or pretend to arrest someone. Of course, perhaps it’s legal in this state. I’m not familiar with the laws here.”
“I’ve been deputized. I have authority.”
Stupid man, he believed his own story. “You’ve been conned,” MJ said, understanding Tasha was fishing for information. So they’d still be tied up, held prisoner, but it’d help to know who was in charge, pulling the strings of these monkeys.
And while MJ debated whether Ben was involved, she didn’t think he was the one directing these guys.
“Conned?” Cantrell laughed. “Only ones trying to con is you two.”
So he wasn’t quite as stupid as he seemed.
“Oh, no, she’s right,” Tasha said. “We’re the good guys here. You’re working for the wrong side.”
“We heard you two went rogue.”
“Who told you that? Maybe we’re not the rogue ones and you’re going to be responsible for our deaths.”
“He didn’t say nothing about no one dying.”
“And who would that be?” MJ asked.
Johnson, finished with the fire, slapped Cantrell upside the back of his head. “Shut up.”
Cantrell frowned.
“Do you know this man personally? Can you trust what he says?” MJ pursued, not really hoping for information.
But both men clammed up. Obviously willing to take the money and turn them over.
Leaving MJ to wonder who would show up later to get them.
Would Ben be there? She hoped not.
She didn’t want to have to kill him. That would be too ironic. Though she didn’t love Ben as she’d loved Keith, killing two lovers didn’t bode well for a future love life.