"You've got enough room to maneuver," Skelly confirmed.
As the Thunderbird's nose shot across the stop line, she aimed for the shoulder and, because she couldn't slow down, prayed they wouldn't take the turn on two wheels.
"You've almost got it," Skelly said, voice tight.
The car careened around the corner, then straddled the line dividing the right lane from the shoulder. The flat ground being in their favor, their speed decreased discernibly. Rosalind checked her rear view mirror and noticed the driver of the fast approaching vehicle was flashing his brights as he closed in on her. A little fancy steering and the Thunderbird wove a bit...then settled onto the shoulder just in time.
"Thank you," she whispered, suddenly drained.
A pick-up shot by them, horn blasting repeatedly, driver leaning toward the passenger side to aim an obscene gesture her way. Anger added to fear, Rosalind wished she could tell him what he could do with himself.
"Idiot!" Skelly muttered.
A small upward incline cut their speed even more. She threw the transmission into neutral. Within seconds, the Thunderbird was barely rolling, so she shifted into park. They jerked to a stop.
"We made it. Thank God."
She cut the engine. Then, both hands gripping the wheel, heart in her throat, she tried to get her breath.
"Good driving, Roz." Skelly sounded like himself again. “Ever think of turning pro?"
Considering the hilly, winding approach to Galena that always tempted her to let it all out, she returned, “Not any more."
Adrenaline leaving her in a rush, her head suddenly spinning, her body hot and clammy, Rosalind rested her forehead against the steering wheel. A wave of nausea washed through her, and she had to keep taking deep breaths and swallowing hard so she wouldn't lose it.
"Hey, you okay?" Skelly asked.
Rosalind heard his seat belt release and was aware of him scooting closer. “I'm trying not to be sick," she groaned.
He reached across her and released both her seat belt and door. Turning her shoulders toward the opening, he said, “Get it over with and you'll feel better."
His touch calming, she was starting to feel better already. The nausea was receding as quickly as it had come over her. “I'll be all right."
"You're shaking."
Skelly pulled her to him and gathered her in his arms. She wasn't even tempted to push at him and move away. The experience had jolted the sense out of her, she supposed. She allowed her body rather than her head do the thinking. Somehow, leaning on Skelly, a man she wouldn't normally give the time of day, seemed right.
He stroked her hair, rubbed her neck, trailed his hand down her spine. She nestled closer, inhaling the scent that lingered along his jaw line – after-shave mixed with a trace of fear – and wondered if he weren't holding onto her for his own comfort as much as hers.
"What a freak thing to happen," she murmured.
"Freak. Right."
But he didn't sound like he thought so.
ALL DAY, SKELLY HAD WANTED to get his hands on Roz, but not like this. Not because she was upset. Thank God she wasn't hurt. That neither of them had been killed. Freak occurrence? He only hoped so.
He gave her one last hug, then reluctantly released her and gazed into her shadowed face. “Nerves steady?"
"Much better."
"Unfortunately, I left my cell phone at the house. “Wanting some answers from a professional mechanic, he said, “So we'll have to walk to the gas station."
Roz nodded and slid to the other side, leaving Skelly feeling as if he'd misplaced some important part of himself. Upon stepping outside, she made a muffled sound and grabbed onto the door.
He popped out of the car. “What?"
"My foot and ankle." Grimacing, she faced him, closing her door in the process and leaning against the car's body. “I stomped on the brake too hard and felt kind of a zing. I guess I twisted something."
"Are you sure nothing's broken?" Skelly asked, slamming his door and rushing to her side. “Does Galena have a hospital?"
"You're getting ahead of yourself. I probably aggravated a tendon or something. I'm not going to see a doctor, when all I need is some ice."
"Still...you'd better wait for me here, while I go for help. The driver of the tow truck can bring you home before dealing with the Thunderbird. Don't worry, I'll stay with him and take care of everything."
He reached for the door handle, intending to help her back inside, but she put a hand on his arm.
"No. I'd rather stay with you. It isn't far. We can see the gas station from here, for heaven's sake."
Even in the dim light of the highway, he could see Roz's face. Her too-wide eyes and clenched jaw told him she was afraid to be alone. Against his better judgment, Skelly caved in.
"Stubborn woman." He snaked his arm around her waist. “At least lean on me, then."
"If you insist."
Roz shifted her weight. Skelly was aware of every soft curve pressed against him. They started walking. Rather, he walked while she limped along. Despite the hazardous situation, or, perhaps because of it, he was having trouble thinking clearly and remaining alert to any other possible dangers. He was too intent on the woman at his side. She slid an arm around his shoulders and adjusted herself, drawing even closer, loose strands of her silky hair caressing his neck and cheek. Wild imaginings raced through his head, all having to do with him and Roz in some intimate situation.
"I can't believe the brakes giving out like that," she said, jolting him out of the fantasy. “Not on a vehicle that's barely a year old."
"Cars are full of surprises." Skelly kept his tone neutral. He didn't want to worry Roz until he was certain they had something to worry about. Thinking he knew how to distract her, he said, “Kind of like women."
Immediately reacting, Roz demanded, “Are you comparing me to my car?"
Skelly deliberately inspected her. “Let's see. Eye-catching. Long, sleek lines. Quality workmanship. Exciting when the motor's revved up. “Unable to help himself, he stared down at her foot and added, “But not so perfect that you don't break down once in a while."
Roz smacked him in the chest. “Beast." But she was smothering a smile.
Making his heart beat faster. “It could be dangerous to mistreat your crutch."
She laughed aloud and Skelly was lost. He'd been playing games with her from the first, testing her reactions, seeing if he could get under her skin. The joke was on him. At that moment, he knew he wanted Rosalind Van Straaten too much for his own comfort.
They were nearly opposite the gas station. Skelly watched for a break in traffic, then balancing more of her weight on himself, hurried Roz across. She clung to him, nails biting into the flesh of his arm, stirring him yet again. He was glad when they landed on the other side and he could all but let go of her. He couldn't take much more close contact without doing something about it.
"Hey, Limp-along, any damage?"
"No new nicknames, please. Roz is bad enough."
"Roz suits you." Skelly pulled a face. “How much do you hate it?"
"I'm adjusting."
"Good thing, because I wasn't planning on changing my tune."
"What a surprise," she muttered, as they moved beneath the station's lit canopy.
Moments later, Skelly gave Jarvis Wiggs, the owner, an abbreviated version of their plight. After aiming a puzzled look at Roz, the man immediately led them to the tow truck. Skelly helped her into the cab and slid in beside her, while Jarvis hopped up behind the wheel.
"So how long do you think it will take to fix my car?" Roz asked.
"Can't do nothing but haul it in tonight."
"Could you at least give the brakes a look?" Skelly asked. “We'd like to know the extent of the damage."
"Yup. I can do that."
Which relieved Skelly immensely. That way, he'd know if he needed to be on guard.
The tow truck nosed to the edge of the highway. A break in traffic
sent them careening directly into the left lane. Skelly quickly glanced at Roz, fearing the motion would make her sick again, but she seemed to be holding up.
"You folks from around here?"
"We're visiting for a few days," Roz said, pressing her elbow into Skelly's ribs, giving him the distinct impression that she didn't want the man to know more. “We're staying with my relatives."
"Holiday weekend. Good time for a visit. From the big city, huh?"
"We had to get away."
Thunderbird in sight, Skelly said, “There's the car."
Jarvis nodded. “So it is. Be sure not to miss the Main Street parade on the morning of the Fourth. Everyone turns out for the festivities." He whipped the tow truck into a U-turn, pulling up directly in front of the Thunderbird. “Walt Rogowski will even have his own float. You know, he's running for governor. Local boy."
"So I've heard," Roz said.
Heidi had already informed Skelly that Rogowski not only still lived in Galena, but that his main campaign office was located in the heart of town. He hadn't yet shared any information he'd gathered about the man who'd begun his political career as Sullivan's aide with Roz. Now wasn't the time to do so, either.
That particular revelation could wait.
Chapter Five
FINISHED INSPECTING THE THUNDERBIRD, Jarvis wiped his greasy hands on his cover-up and lumbered toward them. Rosalind noticed his forehead was furrowed. Her stomach flip-flopped.
"Brake line was damaged."
"You mean it was cut," Skelly said, putting her even more on edge.
"More like punctured. Curious. Most of the line's still intact. You folks musta left a trail of fluid behind you."
She asked, “How exactly was it damaged?"
"Couldn't say for sure." The station owner rubbed a grimy hand through his thinning hair. “Coulda been something sharp flying off the road, I reckon."
But he didn't sound convinced, Rosalind decided. And Skelly certainly didn't look convinced. They both thought...She didn't want to face the truth until she and Skelly could talk privately.
"So, will you be able to fix both the brake line and the emergency tomorrow?" she asked, mind whirling with the implications.
"Your car'll be ready in the afternoon, Miss Van Straaten. Can't say what time for sure. The auto parts store here in town don't always have stock for newer cars. Might have to send someone over to Dubuque to get what I need."
Rosalind nodded. “If you run into any problems, you can reach me here." She scribbled her grandfather's phone number on a piece of notepaper.
"Will do." Jarvis took it from her and secured it to the clipboard with her paperwork. “Now hop back in the truck and I'll run you home."
Throughout the five minute drive, Jarvis and Skelly kept up a running dialogue, Jarvis being something of an unofficial if enthusiastic guide to his home town.
Rosalind couldn't concentrate on their conversation. Her thoughts were spinning with the possibility that someone could have purposely booby-trapped her brakes. Never before having been a target, she was having difficulty accepting the concept. Surely it was equally possible that no one but the fates were responsible.
Wasn't it?
When Jarvis stopped the tow truck in front of Lang House, he peered out at the mansion a moment, then stared at her intently, his bushy eyebrows arched in surprise. She figured he now knew who she was and probably was doing some quick calculating. Hopefully, he wasn't on the local grapevine, or the entire town would hear about the incident by morning.
And they barely had started their investigation.
Rosalind wished she dare ask the gas station owner to keep whatever he knew or assumed to himself lest he set off warning bells among the very people she and Skelly meant to question. Forewarned was forearmed, after all, and Galena was a small town. Undoubtedly more than a few of its citizens watched The Whole Story. If people figured out what they were up to in advance, they might close ranks and shut her and Skelly out.
In the end, she merely said, “Thanks, for the lift," and, with Skelly's help, slid out of the truck.
"See you tomorrow." With a wave, Jarvis drove off.
Rosalind limped up the sidewalk, Skelly's arm again supporting her. The house was dark and she guessed both her grandfather and aunt were asleep. She pulled keys from her trouser's pocket and unlocked the door.
As they stepped inside, she announced, “I need a stiff drink."
"What you need is ice."
"That, too."
They proceeded to the rear parlor where the liquor was kept. She turned on a small table lamp with a lovely stained glass shade. Golden light pooled around them. Enough for her to see Skelly's expression grow deadly serious when he stared into her eyes.
Her skin pebbled and her head went light. “What?"
"Sit while I get some ice for that foot."
Not in the mood to argue and relieved at the momentary reprieve, Rosalind settled into the room's most comfortable chair and put her feet up on the matching ottoman. She was facing the coal fireplace, above which hung an oil portrait of a young Lily that had always dominated the room.
"There's an ice bag in the cabinet above the refrigerator," she said.
"Back in a minute."
Skelly headed for the kitchen, leaving her alone. Her and Lily and the shadowy mental image of a murdered man. Never having been afraid in the old house before, Rosalind suddenly found herself scanning the shadows. Listening for unusual noises. Not a pleasant pastime.
"What really happened in this house that night?" she asked the painted Lily.
Her grandmother didn't seem to be in tune with her thoughts, however, for she received no answer.
Good to his word, Skelly was back in a flash. Twirling the ice bag, he stared down at her foot. “This isn't going to do much good through leather."
"I wasn't thinking...” She started to reach for her shoe, but he stopped her.
"Allow me." Sitting on the edge of the ottoman, Skelly loosened the laces and removed the shoe. “Maybe I should take a better look." Carefully, he rolled down her sock and slid it off her foot, his fingertips then gently exploring her ankle. “A little swollen, but not bad," he pronounced. “Does it hurt to the touch?"
Surprised by the sensation that shot up her leg from the spot where fingers met flesh – definitely not pain – Rosalind shook her head and made an incoherent sound that she covered with a forced cough.
She couldn't take her eyes from him.
Never having debated that he was a handsome man – though she had thought of him as a pretty face – Rosalind took a moment to savor Skelly while his attention was focused on his ministrations.
The lock of blue-back hair splashing his high forehead.
Lashes thick and long brushing his strong cheekbones when he blinked.
His mouth.
The mouth caught her. A very sensual mouth that easily turned up into a wicked smile. An irresistible mouth that tempted her into fantasizing...
"How about here?" Skelly's low tone broke into her unexpected imaginings.
He drew his palm over the top of her foot. Tingling blossomed into a more urgent sensation that threatened to overcome her.
"It's fine," Rosalind choked out. “Uh, the ice – maybe you'd better put it on and get us that drink. The cart's over there." She pointed to the corner of the room, where it stood directly in his line of sight.
Flashing her a smile that made her insides curl, Skelly coiled the ice bag around her ankle and over the top of her foot, then snugged it in place by wrapping all with a dishtowel that he'd brought from the kitchen.
"How does that feel?"
As if she were being tortured by his touch, Rosalind thought, relieved when he finally removed his hand from her leg. What she said was “Cold."
"Then I've done my job." He rose. “What's your preference?"
"Brandy. And don't be stingy."
For a moment, Skelly had made her forget about everything but h
im, but now her mind careened back to the hellish ride that could have killed them both. When he handed her a bulbous glass holding more than a generous splash of brandy, she took a large swallow, grateful for the instant, steadying warmth that soothed her nerves, if not her growing fear.
"I'm afraid it was my fault," Skelly said, expression again sober. “If I hadn't announced my intentions to personally investigate the Sullivan murder on The Whole Story, I wouldn't have forewarned whoever messed with the brake line." He set himself down on the ottoman facing her. “If Grandpa Noah and Aunt Hilary caught the update today, you can bet a lot of other people around here did, as well."
Having already come to that conclusion, Rosalind admitted, “Gossip is a favorite pastime in a small town.” Another swallow of brandy helped her face the probable truth. “You think the miscreant and the person who killed Frank Sullivan are one and the same."
"Maybe. Or a person trying to protect the real murderer, even a potential suspect." Skelly was leaning forward, cupping his drink with both hands. He was staring into the goblet as intently as if the glass were a crystal ball that would give up the perpetrator's identity. “Loyalty is more important to some people than justice."
"Important enough to put innocent lives in danger?" Thankful the brandy was oozing its way through her entire system, brain included, Rosalind murmured, “Unbelievable," in a perfectly calm voice.
Skelly flashed her a look that spoke more volumes than his terse “Believe it."
Which shot a chill through her. “But how? When? The car was parked right in front of the house in the open."
"Open to whose view? Not ours, certainly, not if we were on the first floor."
True, the hill itself half-hid parked cars. “But we have neighbors –“
"Whose houses aren't exactly cheek-by-jowl like in a big city. All the trees, bushes and fences in-between preclude a straight line-of-sight. Whoever tampered with your car would have figured that out."
The McKenna Legacy Trilogy Page 26