The Lawman Meets His Bride

by Meagan Mckinney

  He shook his head at her stubbornness. “You would,” he griped, amused. “But even so, any indictment from a grand jury would be tossed by a jury if I insist I threatened you with harm if you didn’t cooperate. I’ll just tell them you’re lying now out of fear. Now what do you say to that?”

  “Nonsense. I won’t let you do that, no matter how smart and lawyerly you get. You’re innocent, and I’ll face the music for what I did. I don’t regret one thing—about that,” she added, more for herself.

  “Yeah, well, that’s real noble and all that. But you can just can the self-incriminating stuff right now,” he warned. “If you’re arrested when we get there, say nothing except where’s my lawyer. Remember, it’s a long way from an arrest to a conviction.”

  “I will remember it, and you do the same,” she encouraged him as the big Federal Building loomed into view on their right.

  It was an impressive structure, nineteenth century and Romanesque, with plenty of rounded arches. A frieze sculpted in bas relief ornamented the outside.

  “You’d think we were going to the opera,” she remarked.

  “Park in the side lot,” Quinn instructed her, craning his neck to glance nervously all around them. The plaza out front was crawling with FBI and ATF agents, some in “blackout” jumpsuits and well-armed. But unless it was a good act, he decided, they were clearly not expecting anything special. No media bozos, either.

  “Talk about the lion’s den,” he said as she parked in a free lot south of the building. “Todd said it’s best we use the service entrance in the back. He’s on the third floor, and there’s a stairwell hardly anyone uses but maintenance workers.”

  By now Constance felt flutters of nausea. She almost got sick by the time they were halfway up the dingy, unlighted stairs.

  Quinn linked arms with her to support her.

  “We’ll go when you’re ready,” he said gently, his hand on the door to the third-floor hallway.

  She gazed into his smoky eyes and saw no fear in them—just determination to see this through.

  She nodded. “Ready.”

  From that point on, it was all a blur to Constance. They were in a brightly lighted hallway, its bare walls painted an ugly, impersonal shade like pale mustard. They passed several doors, and then Quinn guided her into a pleasant, wainscoted room. No armed cops, no reporters, no net to snare them—yet.

  Just a grinning, baby-faced Todd Mumford, sitting on one corner of his desk looking fresh-scrubbed and precocious. He stood up as they entered.

  “Well, if it isn’t the enfant terrible of law enforcement,” he greeted Quinn. “Buddy, you could use a shave. You look rough. Hi, Miss Adams. Have a seat, both of you.”

  His eyes flicked to the case in Quinn’s hand. “That money-laundering data you mentioned, right?”

  Quinn handed it to him. “My computer’s compatible, so go ahead and boot it up. I’ve already plotted the graphs and plugged in the variables. You can look at it and trace each bribe payment, from the date it transpires to the final investment shelter. Not just the financial end, but all phone and written transactions to support it. I know it’s not everything, but it’s a start. It’s sure all I have.”

  By now Constance had calmed down enough to notice details. Such as the knowing little smile in Todd Mumford’s eyes when Quinn made his last comment.

  “Oh, this might not be all you have,” the FBI agent suggested as he slid one of the disks into the personal computer atop his desk. “Matter of fact, Quinn, I’ll lay fifty-to-one odds this is merely going to ice a very nice cake for you.”

  “Lost me on that one,” Quinn admitted.

  Mumford was barely listening now, absorbed in his computer screen. He loosed a sharp whistle.

  “Good work, ace! With this plus everything else we’ve already got sewn up, my grandmother could prosecute this case.”

  “Everything else?” Quinn repeated, suddenly starting to catch on that something big was about to happen in his life. “Like what?”

  Mumford’s eyes, as blue and bright as forget-me-nots, cut to Constance.

  She had taken a seat on a ladderback chair, nervous stomach still feeling like she was in a fast elevator.

  “I have a message for you from Governor Collins,” Mumford informed her.

  “For me?” Now she was as confused as Quinn. The young fed was so pleased with himself he couldn’t stop grinning. Clearly he wanted to extend the moment. His was the smug, excited, knowing grin of a schoolyard chum who knows something you don’t know.

  “Yes, definitely for you. On behalf of the citizens of the state of Montana, he thanks you for your courage in assisting Quinn Loudon. And—his exact words now—‘for God sakes please call Hazel and your mother and tell them both you’re all right. They’re worried sick.’”

  Constance looked at Quinn, who still resembled a man waking up from a twenty-year coma.

  “Hazel,” she told him, and now, as she began to understand, she felt the slight tickle as a tear formed in the corner of her right eye. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  But something else occurred to her, and she looked at Mumford. “But…what about Quinn?”

  “Well, we’ll need him to swear out some lengthy and boring depositions. But when we found Sheriff Anders’s body, we found a fingerprint on his holster that hooked up to a hit man on Whitaker’s dole. It was exactly as Quinn said. Anders’s life was in danger along with Quinn’s, but no one was ready to listen then. We are now.”

  He turned to Quinn. The agent stood up from his computer and shook Loudon’s hand. “You’re a free man, Mr. Loudon.”

  Quinn closed his eyes, unspeakable relief washing over his face.

  But when he opened them again, she saw the darkness back again.

  “Could you please tell Cody’s wife I’m sorry to hear about her husband. I wish I could have done more to warn him—”

  “You didn’t know how far this would go, Quinn. Above all, you’ve proved you’re a man of honor. You would have saved Anders if you could.”

  Mumford’s words seemed scant comfort to Quinn, but he nodded his acceptance of them with wary eyes. “What about Ulrick and Mer—”

  “Ulrick, my friend, to use an old mining term, has ‘cratered.’ Once he realized Hazel McCallum put the governor on his butt, he broke down and blubbered like a baby. Immediately made a deal with me to turn state’s evidence in exchange for a strong recommendation for a reduced sentence. Even as we speak, he’s in the protective custody of the Witness Protection Program. And I hear he’s singing like a canary in paradise.”

  Quinn, who had remained standing since he arrived, now had to sit down, and quick.

  For the rest of her life Constance would remember the look in his eyes as his gaze touched hers—the look of a man who expected to die in surgery, but instead woke up healthy and healed.

  “So he’s even fingering Dolph Merriday?” Quinn asked, still incredulous.

  “Call the roll, buddy. Merriday, Jeremy Schrader, Brandon Whitaker—all the key players get a big, sloppy Judas kiss,” Mumford confirmed. “Not to brag, but ATF already even busted the hit men in the SUV, got them locked down on federal firearms charges.”

  “Tell them to let their lab crew go over Connie’s Jeep,” Quinn interjected. “Add attempted murder one, hit for hire, to those charges. They opened fire on us late last night.”

  “Dolph doesn’t know all this yet,” Mumford resumed. “Right now he’s out at a political fund-raiser at Hathaway Country Club, glad-handing the next sucker who might vote for him. He’s already got a press release ready, announcing his run for the state senate. Goodbye to all that.”

  “Merriday will slug it out to the bitter end,” Quinn pointed out. “He’s not as weak-kneed as Ulrick.”

  “Let him fight,” Mumford scoffed. “These guys figured they had the keys to the mint, Quinn, and then you come along. You two,” he amended, looking at Constance. “But now, with the governor’s blessings, we’re going to flush a
ll these sleazebags down the toilet at once. Bring some new blood out here.”

  “Even Judge Winston came on board?” Quinn said skeptically. “Lad, I fired shots in his courtroom. And that guy is a rule-book commando.”

  “Yeah,” Mumford admitted, “that was touch-and-go, at first. But he’s always liked you and despised Merriday—hinted as much, anyway, when I spoke to him. What decided him was when both U.S. marshals told him you deliberately aimed high. The bullet holes confirmed that—three feet over their heads. In light of the conspiracy, Winston decided your actions could be stretched to fit a self-defense claim.”

  By now Constance couldn’t keep the tears of joy and relief from brimming over her quivering eyelids. A huge weight had been lifted from her, and she felt almost as if she might float right up to the ceiling.

  She even dared to hope that it had changed the essential impasse between her and Quinn. He was a man of honor; he’d been vindicated as she knew he would. And perhaps he’d see that he was good enough for her. Too good, perhaps. His struggle for justice had become hers, and together—with Hazel’s eleventh-hour help—they had won.

  “I better warn both of you,” Mumford added. “Get set for a media circus. A press release goes out today, timed for release just after Dolph and the rest are slapped with indictments and arrested. And by order of the governor, both of you figure prominently in the story—as citizen-heroes who stood up to corrupt thugs.”

  Mumford smiled at Constance. “The little town of Mystery is going to be overwhelmed for the next few days. Hey, ask a favor? If you meet Barbara Walters, get her autograph for my wife, okay? It’s Debb, with two bs. She’d kill me if I didn’t ask.”

  The agent seemed to see the long look exchanged by his visitors, a look that clearly suggested they wished they could be alone to talk.

  He stood up. “If you two’ll excuse me, I’ve got stuff to run off in the copying room. Hold down the fort for a few minutes.”

  Discreetly, Todd pulled the office door shut as he left.

  In the roller-coaster ride of emotions today, Constance had been able to postpone thoughts about this very moment—the time when Quinn would finally be safe. Safe, but not hers. The time when the terrifying adventure ended and they would be forced to sort out what was real and enduring, and what was simply the product of anxiety and fear.

  Her heart was heavy, and she wasn’t sure how long she could hold her feelings in check. She spoke first, staying in the chair because her legs were suddenly trembling.

  “Quinn, I know we talked about…about us earlier—and I know you think nothing’s changed between us. I guess I can see that in your eyes right now, but—”

  He held up his hand, silencing her. “Everything has changed. And it’s happened so quickly I can hardly take it in yet.”

  “Now you can go back to your old life, free and clear of all that’s happened,” she murmured, almost to herself. “You can go back to the U.S. Attorney’s office again.” She looked up at him. “But when you do return to your old life, if you got nothing out of our—our—relationship, then please take this with you—you convinced me you were a man of honor. You convinced me in spite of your background, in spite of everything. I believed it before Agent Mumford did. So it’s in you, Quinn. It is you. You needn’t worry about your demons any longer. Because they lie.”

  She looked away from him, the pain too intense. “The governor is right. You are a hero. A swash-buckling swordsman, just like in real life.”

  She didn’t know if her words meant anything to him. But suddenly she felt his strong hands on her small shoulders. He bent down to her, his expression tight with constrained emotion.

  “If you’re going to dish out flattery, you’ll have to take some, too,” he told her in the rough voice she knew so well. “I have never, in my entire life, known anyone as loyal as you, and I don’t mean loyal like a good, simple dog. I mean loyal like a guardian angel—a beautiful, smart and gutsy angel.”

  “Then I must be a fallen angel.” She gave him a sad, rueful smile. “What I felt in bed with you was pretty earthy,” she admitted.

  She almost lost her taut control. She’d stayed so strong through the past tumultuous days, but this last meeting—nothing could feel more precarious. It was sweet agony to her—one emotional trial too many. Hazel said he was a keeper. But there was no way to keep someone against his own self-divided will.

  She forced herself to breathe deeply as she recalled something else Hazel told her: Do what you believe is right, and risk the consequences. That advice inspired her now as she faced down this man she loved with all her troubled heart.

  “You amaze me, Quinn Loudon. Just look at the risks you’ve taken to see these creeps prosecuted. You put your life on the line.”

  She rose, and he stood with her. She raised her right hand to gently touch the bullet graze on his cheek.

  “You put your life on the line for justice. But I wonder if you can do it for something else. Something bigger.”

  “And what would that be?” His face was stone hard, his expression inscrutable.

  “Love.”

  “I could insult your intelligence and deny that,” he confessed. “But I won’t. You’re right. But knowing the risk is worth it in your mind isn’t the same as somehow reprogramming your heart.”

  She stared at him for a long terrible moment. It was clear he didn’t feel what she felt. She had finally found a prince, but he wanted a princess, not a workaholic real estate agent from little old Mystery. The hurt swelled inside, but she shoved it down. She would have a lot of long nights to think about the past few days. She would have a lot of long nights to wallow in her wounds.

  Smiling through glistening eyes, she said, “At one time I had all the reason in the world to be down on myself and men. Still, I…well, I guess I found out I’m a lot braver than I thought I was. I let down my guard but good. And I don’t regret it, even as much as this—this—” With a supreme effort she forced down a sob. She didn’t finish.

  He put his arms around her. It was a fortress. One she longed to remain in. For perhaps twenty seconds her tears dampened the front of his—Doug’s—shirt.

  But summoning an iron will she hadn’t known she possessed, she stepped back from his embrace and quickly dried her eyes with a tissue from a box on Mumford’s desk.

  “Connie—”

  This time it was her turn to put up her hand and silence him.

  She choked back a grim laugh. “We’ve both had a couple of insane days. Should we make decisions that might affect the rest of our lives on three days of running from the law? That would be stupid.”

  “So we take our time. We think about it,” he offered.

  She glanced at him. He was giving her the Back-away Words. The “Can’t We Just Be Friends,” line.

  But they would never be friends. She loved him. He’d brought out a passion within her that she didn’t know existed. She would never be the same woman ever again.

  Never.

  She didn’t want that to be the final word between them. But she knew that she was on the verge of losing control completely.

  “I have to get back to Mystery. I’ve missed work. Everyone’s looking for me.”

  He said nothing. He just stared at her, frozen.

  In that awful moment, she realized that heartache was not a metaphor—the hurt inside her chest felt like a stab wound. Barely restraining tears, she brushed his lips lightly with hers. Whispering, she mouthed the word, Goodbye in his ear. Then she escaped into the hallway.

  Constance was so despondent that she felt numb. Emotionally Novacained, she quickly set out on the return drive to Mystery alone, still shattered by the prophetic word: Never.

  She knew from experience, it took a long time to accept the word Never. “Possibly,” was something that kept coming up in the human heart. Possibly Doug was going to come back to her and tell her it was all a mistake. Possibly Doug was going to clear up her credit card problems and tell her th
e hotel rooms were for someone else, not his other lovers.

  The possiblys took a long time to work through. Years sometimes. A lifetime even.

  But once she hit the brick wall of never, as broken and hurting as she would be, she knew she could finally accept it.

  As she would have to force herself to accept it now.

  She and Quinn were different people with different lives. They never would have even met if not for fate and circumstance—and it was a bad fate and bad circumstances that had driven them together.

  It was not the beginning of a hopeful relationship.

  Besides, she still knew very little about Quinn Loudon. She might know what was inside his heart and his soul, but the practical things were non-existent. She didn’t even know if he was engaged or dating someone. For all she knew, he was ready to tie the knot when he got shot.

  A relationship between them was absurd. They were strangers, really. They knew nothing useful about each other.

  Except what was inside each other’s heart and soul.

  She steeled herself against the hopefulness.

  Merging onto the interstate, she upbraided herself with brutal clarity of mind.

  She and Quinn were just one of those things, and she’d just have to accept it. She would probably never see Quinn Loudon again, not even in court—her deposition was all they would need with a confession, not her appearance.

  It was now over, and it had truly been nothing more than a fling fraught with danger—indeed, she admonished herself, maybe it was even the “danger sex” she craved most, some strange psychological compensation for her staid, “good girl” existence.

  But it would never work between them.

  Never, she told herself again and again, praying the hope would die with every beat of her heart.

  Still emotionally propping herself up, Connie stopped, only one hour west of Billings. She was still out of clear cell phone range thanks to the mountains, so she had to use a pay phone at a truck plaza. Dutifully she placed three calls, to her mother, Hazel, and Ginny, assuring all of them she was fine and on her way home.