Worth the Trip

by Penny McCall

  “Norah.”

  She met Trip’s gaze across the bed.

  “I understand what you’re going through,” he said.

  Coming from a man who knew how it felt to lose his parents, there was nothing he could have said to calm her more quickly than that one quiet statement.

  “We’ll find out who’s responsible for this.”

  “I know who’s responsible for this. Hollie—”

  “Norah.”

  Her name was spoken so softly this time, she’d have thought she’d imagined it if her father’s hand hadn’t tightened around hers, just for a second.

  She leaned down to him, afraid she wouldn’t be able to hear him over the pounding of her heart. “I’m here, Dad.”

  “Nice . . . to be . . . called Dad.”

  She glanced up at Trip and smiled. “Trust you to get mileage out of something like this.”

  “Always play the angle, darlin’.”

  “I’m glad you said that, because the angle here is to tell me where the loot is hidden.”

  “Dangerous.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Trip put in.

  Lucius cracked his one good eye open. “We? No. Tell Norah.”

  “You expect her to go after the loot by herself?” Trip said. “Alone? No way.”

  “Her decision.”

  Trip looked to Norah, but he already knew she wasn’t going against her father.

  The infirmary occupied a long, narrow room with a row of hospital beds along each wall, not even curtains to offer privacy. A guard and a nurse flanked the door, with a prisoner cuffed to the two beds closest to them, on opposite sides of the aisle.

  Lucius was at the far end of the room, sans the cuffs since he wasn’t going anywhere—not under his own steam, anyway. Trip took himself to the middle of the aisle, about halfway between her and the door, back turned, arms crossed, looking like he should be wearing fatigues and army boots, and standing a post with a rifle in his hands. Comforting. And a little scary.

  Lucius’s hand tightened slightly on hers, and Norah bent down so he could whisper in her ear. “You’re kidding,” she said, then listened some more, shaking her head. “I promise,” she told him when she was done.

  She tried to let go of his hand, but he clutched at her. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  Once he’d drifted off Norah joined Trip, perching herself on the end of the nearest bed. He must have had a dozen questions, but he kept them to himself, giving her a chance to get herself under control. It took an embarrassingly long time, and thankfully he didn’t offer sympathy. That would have put her right over the edge.

  “He gave me the location,” she said, keeping her voice down. “I promised him it would be handled exactly as he wants.”

  “There are conditions.”

  “Mine,” she said, “not his. First, get my father out of here.”

  “Done,” Trip said so fast she knew he’d been expecting that.

  “And have Hollie Roget killed.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Right now? Yes, I do.”

  He shrugged. “You’re running the show.”

  Norah watched him pull out his cell phone, not saying a word while he talked, too quietly for her to hear.

  “That’s it?” she said once he’d disconnected. “She’s dead?”

  “Regretting your decision?”

  “I wanted to watch.”

  Trip grinned. “There’s a federal warrant keeping her away from you—”

  “Which she’ll ignore.”

  “Then I’ll have her arrested. No reputable TV station, radio station, magazine, or newspaper will touch her. Being in jail will ensure that even the tabloids keep their distance.”

  “She’ll hate me even more.”

  “What can she do about it? Besides, I’m pretty sure you can take her. Especially with a book in your hands.”

  Norah smiled faintly. “I told you I wouldn’t be a tool or a pawn,” she said, getting back to the matter of the robbery. “I’m in this, 100 percent, or I tell the world where the hiding place is.”

  “Playing the angles?”

  “Absolutely.” For the highest stakes there were.

  “You’re not leaving me much choice,” he said.

  “I’m not leaving you any choice.”

  Trip rubbed the back of his neck, but like she’d said, he had no choice but to agree, which he did.

  Norah clammed up.

  “You promised to tell me where it is.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t say when.”

  Trip smiled, if reluctantly. “Payback?”

  “Self-preservation.”

  chapter 7

  HOLLIE HAD THE GOOD SENSE TO BE GONE when they came out. Of course, it was morning by then, and Trip figured she hadn’t left for good. She wasn’t smart enough to stay away from Norah permanently.

  He’d arranged for Lucius to be released, but he hadn’t even tried to budge Norah from the prison until the agents and an ambulance had arrived to transport her father. The sun was just cresting the horizon by the time they followed her father’s gurney out to an ambulance disguised as a linen delivery van, and saw him off to his safe house.

  “There’s no one following him, is there?” Norah asked, her breath steaming on the cold morning air.

  “Just the guys who are supposed to be following him. They’ll make sure no one crashes the party.”

  Norah didn’t say anything. Norah looked like she was all done in. Trip had caught a catnap here and there in the midst of the frivolity. Every time he’d surfaced Norah had been at her father’s bedside, one of his hands in hers, her eyes on his face. The woman was stubborn, contrary, and exasperating. She was also brutally loyal to those she loved. Even if that person was a convicted felon. Sure, she’d been a pain in the ass for most of the two days he’d known her . . .

  Two days.

  He forgot where he’d been going with the previous thought, stunned by the brevity of a relationship that felt like it had lasted a lifetime.

  “Are we leaving?”

  Trip opened the passenger door of Norah’s Ford Escape hybrid, and held out his hand. She took a step back and clutched her keys tighter.

  “You’re exhausted,” Trip said.

  “I slept on and off.”

  “Not that I noticed.”

  “You mean while you were sawing logs on the bed across the aisle?”

  “I woke up often enough to know you didn’t sleep.”

  She shrugged. “It’s only three hundred miles to Chicago, and I can sleep when I get home. It’s not like I have to work.”

  And she was blaming him for that. Which he fully deserved since he’d gone behind her back and gotten her kicked out of school—for her own good, sure, but she wasn’t ready to admit that yet. “This is ridiculous. Give me the keys.”

  Norah lifted her chin and headed for the driver’s side of the Escape, and Trip thought, wrong approach. He should have reasoned with her. Not that he’d ever had much luck reasoning with a woman who could find a way around any argument. Even the logical ones.

  Take now, for instance. She knew she was exhausted, she knew he’d gotten a lot more sleep than she had, and she knew there was an even better reason to let him drive. But did she hand over the keys like a rational adult? No, she got behind the wheel, her expression sulky, no doubt full of energy fuelled by anger over Hollie Roget’s irresponsible journalism and the attack on Lucius.

  He sighed heavily and climbed into the passenger seat, banking on the fact that anyone coming after them would stop short of harm, since whatever Norah might know about the proceeds of the robbery would be lost if she was. “Let me know when you want me to take over,” he said as she settled herself into the driver’s seat and fastened her belt.

  “Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  “I can handle the sitting part,” Trip said.

  Enjoying was another story, especially since, moments afte
r Norah picked up Interstate 57 north out of Marion, Illinois, she also picked up a tail.

  Norah thought five miles under the posted limit was a reasonable speed. A black Cadillac Escalade SUV paced them a dozen car lengths back, bigger, faster, having trouble with the pokey pace but not trying very hard to go unnoticed. No doubt they already knew where Norah lived. Which could mean only one thing.

  “Too tired to drive the speed limit?” he said to Norah.

  She looked over at him, then back at the road. “Is there a reason you’re trying to goad me into driving faster?”

  Trip sighed heavily.

  “You do that a lot,” she observed.

  “It’s a new habit I’ve picked up since meeting you.”

  “There’s a simple remedy for it.”

  “Sure, you could cooperate once in a while.”

  “It’s not cooperation if I’m the one making all the compromises.”

  Trip let his head fall back against the seat, suddenly worn out. “Just once it would be nice if you followed directions without all the time-wasting discussion.”

  “It’s not logical to expect blind trust from someone you’ve only known for two days.”

  Trip made a sound that definitely wasn’t a sigh. It came from the back of his throat, for one thing, and there was a lot more frustration than exasperation involved.

  “You haven’t answered my question” was Norah’s reaction.

  He caught himself before he sighed again. “There’s a black SUV behind us. Last I checked he was one lane over and two cars back.”

  “We’re out of Marion. The traffic is thinner.” Norah sat up straighter, giving the Escape a little more gas while she checked out the road behind her in the rearview mirror. “But the SUV is still there.”

  “They won’t be content to hang back once there are no other cars on the road.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we can keep driving and wait for them to make a move, or we can pick the time and place, get a little control over the outcome.”

  “I’m all for Door Number Two,” she said, glancing over at him, looking a little frightened and a lot open to suggestion.

  And here he was with a completely empty suggestion box. The terrain didn’t offer much help either. Marion USP sat about three hundred miles from Chicago, at the southern end of the state, about halfway between the Missouri and Kentucky borders. It was a fairly straight shot down Interstate 57, and the adjective that best described the terrain was flat. There was a hill here and there, a stream or small river to keep things from being completely boring, and towns of various sizes were peppered along the route, but Trip preferred to keep the innocent bystanders innocent, and unharmed. As far as topographical features that might work to their advantage in the current situation, it was pretty much a bust.

  To make matters worse, they were in a smaller, slower vehicle with a novice at the wheel. A novice who might be pissed off enough to pull off a miracle. As hopes went it was pretty lame. And their only one.

  “Do exactly what I tell you to do exactly when I tell you to do it,” Trip said.

  “But—”

  “No questions, no discussion. You’re going to have a split second to maneuver, starting now. Swerve right.” And to help her he grabbed the steering wheel and jerked it—a little too hard since the Escape might not be fast but it was maneuverable, going up on two wheels in an attempt to make a ninety degree turn at seventy miles an hour.

  Norah wrestled it back under control, shooting him a look that went from cranky to panicked when something crashed into their rear bumper. “I think you should drive,” she said, taking the no discussion rule at face value by clambering half over the console into his lap without giving him a chance to say more than “Wait” and “Stop,” or point out that the guys in the SUV might not want to kill them, but changing drivers at a high rate of speed might do the job anyway. Then again, the car slowed drastically with her foot off the gas pedal.

  The SUV shot ahead, brake lights flashing as it slowed to block them in behind a minivan just merging onto the highway.

  Trip grabbed Norah’s long-handled ice scraper from behind the driver’s seat, jammed it between the gas pedal and the seat bottom, and the Escape leapt forward, slamming her against him. He gasped for air, managing to get his hand on the wheel with absolutely no idea what to do with it because he was fighting to see around her. “Dammit, Norah,” he said, dragging his other hand out from underneath her and putting it on her backside.

  She jackknifed, twisting sideways, which solved his visibility problem but left her with her face against his stomach—distracting—and jammed her left foot into one of the openings in the steering wheel. Disaster. The Escape accelerated, the Escalade and the minivan still serving as moving roadblocks, and the steering wheel wouldn’t budge.

  “Move your foot,” Trip shouted.

  “It’s stuck.”

  The Escape hurtled down the road at the SUV, the driver flashing his brake lights like they were too stupid to know that slamming into the back of an Escalade would be tantamount to impersonating crash-test dummies. Trip blew the horn, hoping the guy didn’t actually want them dead. He must have gotten the picture because the SUV sped up, passing the minivan with barely enough room for the Escape to squeeze by. If they’d been able to steer . . . “Lift your leg,” Trip yelled.

  “What!?”

  “Just do it.”

  Norah lifted her leg up, and the wheel turned enough to save their asses, bumpers just brushing as the Escape scooted into the next lane and shot by the Escalade.

  “Okay, you can relax,” Trip said, a little calmer but still aware that they were running out of options, and as intriguing as it was to have Norah’s head in his lap, the timing wasn’t all it could be.

  “There’s a curve coming up.”

  “I think we should worry about the SUV,” Norah said, hands braced on his thighs so she could see over his shoulder. “It’s coming up behind us. Fast.”

  “Either way we need to go left.”

  “You need to—”

  “Twist your foot—no, like pigeon toes—A little more,” he said when the Escape didn’t quite make the turn. “That’s it. Now back. Good,” he finished as they came around the curve and saw no traffic, except the Escalade, which took the opportunity to come up alongside them.

  They were on a straightaway, coming up on Rend Lake. The lake sat about twenty miles north of Marion, a long, narrow body of water with an even narrower section that jutted out at a forty-five degree angle to the rest of the lake. I-57 passed to the east of the main lake over that narrow finger of water. In summer Rend Lake saw a lot of visitors, hiking, boating, camping, even during the week. Late fall weekday mornings meant no traffic, except the Escalade, pulling even with them. The rear passenger window motored down. Trip didn’t figure they wanted a better look at the scenery.

  Sure enough, a .38 eased out, the wielder clearly wanting to remain hidden behind the tinted windows. And while Trip was pretty sure it was meant to incapacitate the Escape and not its occupants, the awkward position and the high speed made for a pretty wobbly grip and an uncertain trajectory.

  He tried to dislodge the window scraper, but it wouldn’t budge, and instead of losing speed they gained, Norah’s arms and legs flailing for balance, including her foot still jammed into the steering wheel, which sent the Escape swerving all over the road.

  Trip threw caution to the wind, letting go of the steering wheel, pushing Norah as far forward as he could and managing to get his legs underneath him, then jamming them across the console and into the driver’s seat. The top of his head and the edge of the sunroof became painfully familiar with one another, the rest of him getting less painfully intimate with Norah, rubbing against her breasts, belly, thighs as he slid his body between hers and the seat backs, while the Escape slalomed down the road and the Escalade alternated between chasing them and avoiding them. And then things went from bad to worse.<
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  “I’m stuck,” Trip said.

  Norah tried to push him, not having much luck until she brought up her free leg, planted her foot on Trip’s butt, and shoved for all she was worth.

  Trip dropped into the driver’s seat, the window scraper popped up, and he jerked the wheel in an effort to block it from delivering an accidental crotch shot, but with no consideration for Norah’s ankle, still stuck there. She jerked her foot out of reflex—and pain. The Escape veered sharply to the right, cutting across the shoulder and screeching against the old-fashioned steel guardrail.

  “My car,” Norah wailed, apparently forgetting her life was more important than her vehicle, not to mention they were just moving onto the bridge over Rend Lake.

  She tried to sit up, sending the Escape careening back into the right lane to crash against the Escalade. The gun went off, taking out the Escape’s rear passenger window, and apparently scaring the crap out of the Escalade’s occupants since Trip heard a lot of high-pitched shrieking coming from the other vehicle, which sped up and swerved violently left, then even more violently to the right as the driver overcorrected. The heavier, larger vehicle smashed through the guardrail and dropped out of sight.

  “I think I saw a splash,” Norah said, bracing herself on the empty passenger seat so she could see out the back window. “And there . . . Two people just surfaced.”

  Trip nudged the steering wheel so the Escape coasted to a stop at the side of the road past the lake. He turned in his seat, but he didn’t have the same line of sight as Norah. “Can you make out faces?”

  “No, but I bet they’re mad.”

  “It’s not their expressions I’m after.”

  “Oh, you want some physical characteristics.” She peered out the back window again, “Sorry, they’re just blobs.”

  Useless specks. He considered getting out of the vehicle and hiking back, but even if he’d been comfortable leaving Norah alone, they weren’t just going to swim over for a little chat. Hell, they’d probably shoot him since he was only an obstacle to what they wanted. Considering the adrenaline popping through him and the urge to burn it off in the fastest way possible, shooting him could be seen as a favor.