by Moira Reid
The Corvette skidded to a stop as a driver moving past the joining road honked his horn for all he was worth. Butch ignored him and stared down the road so he could get into the traffic. The driver, still irritated, decided to drive as slowly as he possibly could. Butch had an immediate flash in his mind that he should drag out his .357 once more and show the guy how he felt about that particular driving maneuver.
Instead he stared up the road to get a look at what he was up against. Claire and her not-so-friendly tail had already pulled out into the traffic and were moving off into the distance.
Butch flipped his cell phone open and punched in the speed-dial number for her cell. Thank God he’d had the foresight to program it yesterday when he’d picked up the GPS monitor from the captain. Who’d have guessed the woman he’d been charged with protecting would be this difficult to protect? When he got back home, he was taking up gardening or something equally slow-paced. Plants didn’t turn him on or make his life a living hell.
He spun the steering wheel hard right and hit the accelerator as the car finally got out of the way.
The phone rang only once before she picked up.
“Hello?”
“Dammit, Claire! Wait for me!” Butch stomped the accelerator to the floor and flipped the driver a bird as he zoomed past him.
“Oh, hello, Butch. Sorry, but I’m afraid I’m busy.”
“He’s right behind you!” His voice croaked out the words, and the shitty reception probably made it sound even worse. His heart hammered against his chest.
“What?”
“The van! It’s behind you!”
She paused, and the sound of traffic and wind rattled through the cell phone’s earpiece. “Don’t mess with me, Butch. I’m not coming back for you.”
He took a deep breath. “The van, damn it! That guy followed you out of the parking lot just now. Are you insane? Why did you leave—”
“There’s no van behind me.”
Was she blind? Butch whipped around a slow-moving Subaru and pushed the gas pedal farther toward the floor to close the distance between them. With these hills, he could see her car; then he couldn’t, but he could clearly see the van, first the whole thing, then just the top of it. He closed the distance between himself and Claire steadily.
“He’s not right behind you yet, but he’s there.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m back here, too, damn it!” He shifted lanes once more, then accelerated again, not daring to look at the speedometer. If a horde of policemen started following him, all the better.
“You wish you were behind me.” She laughed, but the sound was cut short. “Oh wait. There is a van back there. It’s white.”
No shit. He crested another hill and had her car in full view. The van reeled along two cars in front of him.
“Claire, listen to me carefully. Stay on this road, and slow down so I can catch you. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you, but Butch, wait a minute. That’s…”
As he darted between the cars in the right-hand lane in order to close the distance between himself and the van, the Corvette’s rear wheels slid. He grabbed the wheel with both hands and dropped the cell phone into the floorboard.
When he was one car behind the white van and four cars behind Claire, he fished his hand around in the floorboard while trying to hold the car in the road. He finally laid his hand on the phone’s thin metal antenna. Picking it up carefully, he struggled to right it, then pinched it between his cheek and shoulder. He jammed his hand down on the horn and left it there.
“Butch, what’s going on?” Her voice in the receiver changed from annoyance to confusion to fear. “What’s that noise?”
The van changed lanes and, moving faster down the passing lane, closed in on her. “He’s going to try to broadside you, Claire! There’s an exit coming up on the right. I want you to take it. Don’t slow down until you get off the highway.”
Claire said nothing, and Butch was still quite a distance away, but close enough that he could see her eyes in the rearview mirror. They were huge.
“I can’t do it, Butch. I’m going too fast to make that turn.”
Butch read the sign at the approaching exit. REDUCE SPEED TO 25.
Shit.
“No, you can’t. Where are the damn cops?”
Right on cue, Butch heard the faint peal of sirens in the distance. Thank Auquerel. “All right, Claire Just stay on this road. When that van gets closer, I want you to tap your brakes a couple of times, then press down on them—hard. You got me?”
“Butch, listen—”
“Just do it, Claire!”
He snapped his phone closed and tossed it onto the seat, preparing to chase that van to the end of the Earth. Once he got his hands on Garren, he was going to toss him over the horizon—but good.
Police sirens screamed as both he and the van moved in on Claire’s Honda. Butch looked up to see the black-and-white cavalry three cars back and closing.
The car to his right pulled off onto the shoulder. A moment later, the cop’s squad car rode along beside him. Butch stole a glance at him, then back to the curving portion of the highway ahead.
“Pull over, sir!” The bullhorn blasted through the closed windows of the Corvette as if the T-tops were off and the windows wide open.
He pointed at the van ahead of him and kept driving.
“Pull over now!”
He turned toward them while searching along the side door for the electronic window button. Damn antiques. It had the crank. He held his hand out to the window, but his focus was off. The passenger- and driver’s-side windows both opened, air rushing into the car, the sound of the siren now deafening.
“The hell I will! The woman in the Honda! She’s being followed!”
Shouting over the screaming siren was a waste of breath. Butch could barely hear his words inside his own head. He started to yell the message again, when the policeman’s bullhorn rose once more to his lips.
“Pull over immediately! You’re under arrest!”
Shit. Butch looked to see Claire’s position in relation to the van. Garren passed by her, didn’t apply his brakes at all or even appear to notice her alongside him. Claire slowed and took the next exit.
“Pull over now, sir!”
Damn it to hell.
Chapter Four
Claire held her foot on the brake as she drove down the exit ramp, the car slowing as she approached the end of the deceleration lane. Butch and the cops were in her rearview mirror for a moment; then they were gone from sight.
Her heart continued racing. That had been the van she’d seen yesterday. Butch had seen him, grabbed a car, and followed her to save her.
Where had he gotten that car? It looked like Jerry’s pride and joy. If that was Jerry’s Corvette, she could just imagine his face right about now. No way Butch had asked to borrow it, and it wouldn’t matter if he had. Jerry wouldn’t even let his wife drive it. Butch had somehow appropriated it, and Jerry had most likely been the one to call the cops now racing down the road alongside Butch. Life or death, didn’t matter—Jerry would sell his grandmother before he’d loan his car.
Well, at the end of the day, that wasn’t the behavior of a guy she needed to get away from. Crap. She reached the red light at the bottom of the hill. She stopped and peered out the windshield back up to the highway but could see nothing from down here. She listened for the police siren somewhere ahead of her. They’d either pulled Butch over, or they had gotten so far away she couldn’t hear them any longer. Surely Butch wasn’t crazy enough to try to outrun the police. It would have taken them a little while to slow him down and get him pulled over. She could still get there.
Garren had been driving the van, but he was long gone now. Hopefully.
She shook her head as she sat trapped at the red light, cars passing from both directions in front of her. Give the police about ten minutes, and they’d have Butch in custody for racing down the road like
a maniac, stealing a car… Heaven knew what all. Butch was going to jail, unless she did something and fast.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed her father. She should have asked him the reason he’d wanted her to leave before she’d followed his command. But this was how they were. How they’d always been. He said jump, and she said how high.
When the light finally changed, Claire stomped on the gas pedal and drove her car straight across the road to the acceleration ramp. Speeding down the road, she was thankful not many cars were around at this time of day or she’d never get there in time.
There. She could see the beginning of the traffic holdup, and not surprisingly she could just make out Jerry’s black Corvette on the shoulder of the road. A uniformed officer held Butch’s chest pressed against the Corvette with his hands behind his back. Someone had removed Butch’s suit coat, and she realized for the first time that he’d been wearing a shoulder holster.
“Oh man, Butch. You are in so much trouble,” she muttered.
Every car in front of her drove slowly past them, rubbernecking as if this were the most interesting thing that had ever happened on this part of the globe. Finally, she passed them, applied the brake, and pulled off the road She climbed out of her Honda and started walking along the shoulder to deal with the mess she was at least partly responsible for creating. Not entirely responsible, but somewhat.
One of the police officers walked toward her, holding his arm straight out and pointing.
“Ma’am, get back in your car, please.”
Claire shook her head as she kept walking toward him. Of all the things she needed to get done today, keeping Butch out of jail had to be at the bottom of that list. What in the world had her father been thinking when he’d called her?
“Officer, that man is not a criminal. He’s my bodyguard.”
* * * * *
Butch stood at military rest in the middle of Claire’s living room, his hands behind his back, feet shoulder width apart. They needed to get out of here. Garren certainly knew this house, and unless he missed his guess, the outlaw could be waiting outside right now. Despite his arguments, she’d insisted on coming back to talk to her father when he wouldn’t answer the phone. Butch had secured the alarm system on his way in, but he didn’t count on that to keep Garren out for long.
She paced back and forth across the oak floor with the phone stuck to her ear, trying again to reach her father on his cell. Butch watched her strut around in the impossibly high heels on those long, sexy legs. Damn good thing she had no idea how this woman-run-amok routine was pissing him off and turning him on at the same time. If she had known, he had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t have liked it much.
And neither would her father. Yeah, good thing he wasn’t here.
He’d seen her in action today, and he’d been right about his first impression of her. She had some serious IQ points in her favor. Not to mention a couple of other points, which he was trying hard not to stare at.
Her leaving had really pissed him off, but she’d managed to handle those policemen beautifully. With tears in her eyes—which he now realized she could turn off and on at will—she explained how she’d been attacked, and he’d been hired as her bodyguard. She’d stretched the truth about knowing she was being chased by the same man who’d attacked her last night, but all in all, his racing to save her had been explained away to their satisfaction. He’d gotten off with a warning to “dial back the race-car driving and just call nine-one-one next time.”
Hell, she’d even managed to placate Jerry about his stolen Corvette, although that had taken some finagling.
Why she’d taken a powder in the first place was the basic sticking point now, but they had no answers. Claire was in a high snit as she almost shouted into the receiver. Butch wished he could say something to help, but silence was the best option at this point.
She slammed the phone down on the cradle. “I left another message. Damn it! Where is he?”
The dressing-down she’d just delivered to the captain’s answering service was mild compared to some he’d gotten since he’d been here serving under her father’s command, and, he thought contentedly, a hell of a lot more fascinating to watch. He’d been careful not to let her know the effect she was having on him, but with the heat of her temper mingling with her already raging pheromones, it was getting harder all the time to keep his libido in check.
She made another three-point turn and stared first at the phone, then at Butch. Her eyes flashed, and Butch held his breath to try to fight off the desire burning through his body every time he breathed in her scent.
“He said this arrangement wouldn’t interfere with my work, yet I spent an hour explaining to the state police why they shouldn’t let you rot in jail! He’s controlling, and now he’s disappeared. Two things I don’t need. I had to guard your body, which is sort of the opposite of what he was going for when he brought you here in the first place. I don’t know why he insists on treating me like a child. I am perfectly capable of taking care of things myself!”
He tried not to think about the way she said, “guard your body,” and reserved comment. Claire might sermonize now, but her father would have the last word. He was sure of that. While she’d spoken strongly to him on the phone, he had yet to see her really stand up for herself in his presence. Was that why she had argued not to have him as a bodyguard last night? That certainly made sense in terms of their crazy relationship.
Why she didn’t just move out was the real question. Didn’t human women do that? If his parents had bothered him this much, he certainly would have.
“Oh, and Jerry! God! You know he tried to tell me that he could sue for pain and suffering?”
Butch scowled. “He hasn’t seen suffering. Yet.”
She spun around and pointed a long accusing finger at him as she moved. “Well, we’re just lucky it worked, and you’re not stuck dodging some Bubba in the joint. If it hadn’t, you’d be wearing a nice, bright orange jumpsuit instead of that thousand-dollar Ralph Lauren.”
He watched her pivot at each end of the room as she paced relentlessly, her shapely leg muscles tightening and loosening with each stride. He tried to think about anything but the sound of those clicking heels and exactly what was inside them.
Why did she wear such high heels anyway? She was pretty damn tall for a woman. Was it to establish control, to look larger and more powerful? Unfortunately, to him, all that made her look was more attractive.
This woman who looked like a model and ran her mouth like a three a.m. drill sergeant had an amazingly exotic appeal, even when she was talking in no certain terms about nefarious incarceration. Even when she was driving off and leaving him in a parking lot.
She ranted on about her anger at her father, but her emotional outburst was probably more closely related to her near miss with Garren than anything her father had done. Yeah, her father had called her away, and that had started the snowball rolling downhill. But it wasn’t really Dirk Simonson she was in such a snit over.
“What I want to know is where he went. He seldom ever goes out at night, and never without telling me where he’s headed. I wonder if he went to the police station.” Her hair swung with the next spin around the rug, falling around her shoulders like a waterfall pouring over her.
Pictures of what she’d look like in a string bikini standing under an actual waterfall instead of that dress-for-success suit flashed unbidden to his mind.
Time to get his head back in the game. Garren was out there somewhere, and neither she nor his raging pheromones were going to keep her safe. It was time for him to say something. She appeared to be winding down from her tirade, and considering all she would get from this was the satisfaction of having had her say, she might as well have it. He was fairly certain it wouldn’t matter, wouldn’t, in fact, change one single thing. The sooner she got over this, the sooner they could get the hell out.
“Keeping the police involved is smart and a log
ical step.”
Claire’s eyes widened. “Well, he could have told me! How can you be so calm? Because of what he’s done, you were almost arrested by the police after a high-speed chase along the interstate in a stolen car!”
Maybe she wasn’t done ranting yet. He sighed. “Yeah, I was there, remember?”
“So, why aren’t you upset? He calls me, and it almost gets you arrested!”
Butch slowly closed the distance between them, resisting the urge to place his hands on her. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to comfort her or pull her body against his. Or slap her silly to arrest this out-of-control tirade. Each impulse had a solid logic behind it.
“Yeah, well he was wrong, but why did you listen to him anyway? Who are you mad at, Claire? Him for calling you, or yourself for following his orders?” That comment had struck home; he could read it in her eyes. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been quite so blunt. “I’m here to protect you. How am I supposed to do that when you go running off?”
“What if something has happened to him?”
Butch’s cell phone rang, and they both froze for a moment. He grabbed the phone out of his pocket but didn’t recognize the number. He hit the Speaker button and motioned for Claire to say nothing.
“Butch? Are you there?”
The sound of her father’s voice, tinny over the speaker, still sounded as commanding and intimidating as ever.
“Father?”
“Claire. Where’s Butch?”
“He’s standing here with me in the living room. A better question would be where are you?”
“I drove to Washington to find out what the hell this Garren character is doing here. I tried to leave a message on your cell, but the damn thing wouldn’t record it, and you wouldn’t pick up.”