Worth the Trip

by Penny McCall

  “A little help here,” Norah said. “Can you work my foot free?”

  “This position has some potential,” Trip observed, “but I like it better when the other end of you is in my lap. Maybe we should try again when we have a little more time to experiment.”

  Norah wrenched her foot free and crawled out of his lap, not exactly careful where her knees and toes landed. He suspected that might be on purpose.

  “I’m a psychologist, not a scientist,” she said as she dropped into the passenger seat. “I already know where experimentation of that kind will get us.”

  Trip didn’t need the benefit of formal training to get her gist. His knowledge was more experience-based, and his experience told him that sex with Norah MacArthur would be a huge mistake. Potentially mind-blowing if that kiss was any yardstick, but still, a mistake. He could write off that kiss to misjudgment. Sex with her would be a conscious decision made for reasons he couldn’t begin to understand because he refused to examine them. Best they stay a mystery. And unrealized. He needed his mind intact if he was going to get them both through the minefield this operation had become.

  chapter 8

  “OH, FOR PETE’S SAKE,” NORAH SAID WHEN they pulled up in front of her house in her battered Escape and saw a man standing half in-half out of her front door. “This is getting completely out of hand.”

  “We reached out of hand at the paparazzi swarm,” Trip said. “Once there’s vehicular assault and gunfire we’ve officially crossed over into life or death. But that guy isn’t a problem. I called him.”

  Norah peered through the passenger window. “Why am I not surprised?”

  The guy resembled the Hulk, without the green skin and low forehead, but intelligence in a man was always dicey. They either wanted to run your life or they wanted you to run theirs. The first wasn’t bad; a lot of women made peace with it, letting the man think he was making all the decisions when in reality they listened politely and then did what they wanted anyway, as long as what they wanted didn’t rock the boat too much. It was a perfectly viable relationship mode, so viable whole books had been written about it.

  The second involved more work and less delusion, but it wasn’t bad either. Norah just hadn’t found a man who could inspire her to take either road. Maybe she never would, but she liked her life the way it was. Sure, she had trust issues, but then, who didn’t?

  “He’s okay,” Trip said, misinterpreting her hesitation, “he just looks scary.”

  No, Norah thought, scary was a man she’d only known for three days, but who appealed to her so much there were moments she wanted to throw herself at him, knowing he’d catch her but not caring how long he held on. Not that she actually thought Trip Jones was capable of a lifelong commitment, but she ought to at least be concerned about how hard the fall would be when he dropped her.

  Trip was oblivious to the morbid direction of her thoughts. He was already out of the vehicle and halfway up the walk. The Hulk stepped down the porch stairs to meet him on the brick walkway. Norah braced herself and joined them, surprised when Trip introduced them and Robert Lawrence took her hand gently in his, the look in his eyes just as gentle.

  “You don’t look like a Bob,” Norah said. “Or a Rob.”

  “What do I look like?”

  “Trouble.” All those muscles controlled beneath that soft touch and those soft brown eyes—not to mention the intelligence behind them? Definitely trouble. For some other woman, thankfully.

  “You can call me Law,” he said, his eyes taking on a more humorous glint before he shifted his gaze to Trip. “She’s direct. I like direct women. You never have to wonder what they’re thinking.”

  “Yeah, aren’t I lucky?” But he took her hand from Law’s and tucked it in the crook of his arm.

  Norah untucked it. And sidled a step away from him.

  Law found that vastly amusing. So amusing a flock of seagulls in the park two blocks away took to the skies, shrieking. Law’s laugh was just as big as he was. “You make your own luck, Trip. Isn’t that what you always say?”

  “You’re here to upgrade security, remember?”

  “Really?” Norah glanced over her shoulder at her wreck of a vehicle. “Is he going to take you away with him when he goes?”

  “I’m not the one who decided to drive after twenty-four hours without sleep,” Trip shot back. “I’m not the one who crawled out of the driver’s seat when things got rough.”

  Norah didn’t have a response to that. Trip was right, and she was wrong, and worst of all, she understood why she was wrong, and why she was making such bad decisions. She kept trying to exert a little control in her life, fighting against Trip because he brought out feelings in her that were scary and worrisome and confusing. She ought to be focusing on the robbery, remembering that while there were a lot of kooks out there, at least one person was willing to beat up an elderly man to get access to a cache of loot hidden for fifteen years.

  No matter what Trip’s personal impact, she needed to concentrate on his professional reasons for insinuating himself into her life. She didn’t have to trust him, per se, but she had to keep in mind that protecting her was in his best interest at the moment, and he knew what he was doing. If it took a million reminders, hell, if she had to write it on the back of her hand with a Sharpie, she’d get it through her thick skull that Trip was on her side before someone else got hurt.

  Rather lowering, she admitted, to have her confident, independent self-image shattered by the first handsome face and killer body to come along, but she couldn’t hide from it, either. Sometimes it sucked being a psychologist.

  “I’m sorry,” Trip said into the silence, “that was out of line. True, but out of line. And stop grinning at me,” he grumbled in Law’s direction.

  Law held up both hands. “Just changing locks, here.”

  “I should be apologizing to you,” Norah said, the words sticking a little in her throat until she pictured that black Sharpie, and how stupid she’d look walking around with the words “trust Trip” written on her hand.

  “Apology accepted,” Trip said, even though she hadn’t technically given him one, which made her feel like she should apologize for not apologizing, and that made her head hurt.

  “I’m going to get some sleep,” she said, hoping a little rest would get her thoughts back on a nice, logical course, and that she hadn’t completely lost her sanity due to a combination of adrenaline and hormones. She stopped on the second step and looked at Law, now eye level. “It’s okay to go inside, right? I won’t set off alarm bells or booby traps or attack dogs when I go through the door?”

  “Well, there is a big net that comes down from the ceiling to trap intruders.”

  “After the last two days it wouldn’t surprise me to be tackled by Ninjas.”

  “That’s some imagination you’ve got there.”

  “You have no idea.” And her gaze flicked to Trip, which was exactly what she’d been trying not to do.

  The two men grinned and exchanged glances that should have included waggling eyebrows.

  “It doesn’t take—Never mind,” she finished, because she’d been about to tell Law it didn’t take imagination, that she’d been almost hit by a car, intruded on last night, and had he totally missed her wreck of a vehicle sitting at the curb? How the heck did he think the sides of her Escape had gotten crumpled like used tin-foil? So finding out that her house had been secured by the Three Stooges branch of the FBI seemed like no big stretch.

  And yet she knew he’d apply her “it doesn’t take imagination” to Trip, which was mostly true, since she’d seen him in boxers last night, and there was the whole thing about him being just like other men, except she had a feeling if she did a test drive she’d find out he wasn’t like all other men. Hell, he’d probably ruin her for all other men, and when this fiasco was over he’d disappear from her life, the jerk, leaving her with a wildly unrealistic yardstick—

  “She looks like she’s conside
ring violence,” Law said to Trip. “You don’t usually have that effect on women.”

  “She’s not like other women.”

  “Men,” Norah muttered, climbing the steps since she didn’t seem to be necessary to the conversation anymore, at least as far as verbal interaction went. But she was smiling as she skirted Law and his tools to get to her front door, their laughter floating behind her, deep and hearty and cheerful. And protective.

  “Hey, before I forget,” Law said, which made her turn back in time to take the small box he held out, about the size of a hardcover book and as heavy as one. “FedEx dropped this off for you.”

  Norah read the label, then tucked it into the crook of her arm. “Thanks,” she said to Law. “For everything.”

  “Something wrong?” Trip asked her.

  Norah looked at Law and his alarm system, at her crumpled escape, then at Trip. “Everything,” she said, and went inside.

  “DON’T YOU EVER GIVE UP?” NORAH SAID TO HOLLIE Roget four hours later when she found the woman on the other side of her front door.

  Then the alarm went off, and since Norah didn’t have the code, she took off her shoe and beat the little keypad next to the door until it was a pile of plastic shards and broken circuitry on the floor. More importantly, the sound cut off.

  Trip had told her not to open the door—by way of a Post-it stuck on the doorknob—but honestly, if he wanted her to follow instructions he should have stuck around, right? Or left Law to babysit. But they were both gone, she’d spied Hollie through the little peephole, and she’d gotten enough sleep to be able to keep her wits. And there were things she wanted to say to Hollie. None of them were nice. Some of them, it turned out, weren’t even verbal.

  Hollie opened her mouth, and Norah took a step forward and popped her in the face. It wasn’t a very hard punch, she didn’t put her weight into it, and Hollie had a pretty bony face so it probably hurt her hand more than Hollie’s chin. But it felt damn good.

  “I should have you arrested for assault,” Hollie said, rubbing her jaw.

  “Assault? How about we take a trip to Marion and compare your injury to my father’s? You’re lucky he isn’t dead, or I’d be suing you. As it is I think my lawyer could make a case for stalking.”

  Hollie started to say something defensive, judging by the way she jammed her hands on her hips. Then she stopped, took a deep breath, and said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Wow, that actually sounded sincere.”

  “I truly am sorry,” Hollie said, “See? No camera, no microphone, no recording devices. You can frisk me if you want.”

  “Uh, no, thanks.”

  “I really didn’t intend for your father to get hurt. Sometimes I get so focused on a story that I forget real people with real lives are affected.”

  “And what do you have to gain by apologizing?”

  Hollie smiled faintly. “I guess I deserve that.”

  Norah didn’t return the smile, but she didn’t slam the door in Hollie’s face either. She was curious.

  Hollie didn’t keep her waiting. “I want to work with you on the treasure,” she said.

  Norah did try to slam the door then. Who knew Hollie had such amazing reflexes and big feet? A lot of nerve, that Norah was already familiar with.

  “Please hear me out.”

  Norah stared pointedly at Hollie’s Manolo through the size ten crack in her front door. Hollie slowly removed her foot. She hesitated once or twice, but the foot finally retracted all the way. It was the second time she’d done something almost respectable. If not for that pesky ulterior motive.

  But damn it, Norah was still curious. “I’ve already wasted ten minutes on this,” she said, opening the door just wide enough to see Hollie with both eyes. “Make your case.” Even if it would still be no.

  The defeated look on Hollie’s face told Norah she got that, but she was going to try anyway. “I want to make a documentary about the robbery. I think it would help your father if people knew his side of the story. We could spin it—”

  “My father was guilty, he was convicted, he’s done his time. It doesn’t need spin.”

  “Okay, but giving the loot back to the victims is pretty amazing. I’d love to be a fly on the wall while it happens.”

  Norah thought of her more as a rodent, but the fly image was pretty good, too, and ready-made. All she had to do was superimpose Hollie’s face over Jeff Goldblum’s and there it was.

  “You’re smiling. Is that a good sign?”

  “Not for you.” But she held the image another few seconds. Childish but oh so amusing. “Making a documentary will take a pretty long time,” she pointed out. “Too long to fix your career.”

  “Look, my career is toast. There’s no going back to the news, but somebody is going to make a documentary about this. Why not me?”

  “Well, you have all the right answers, I’ll give you that.”

  “What are the questions?” a deep voice said from the walkway behind Hollie.

  She swung around, Norah looked past her, and there stood Law, a bag from a local electronics store in his hand, and Trip, carrying takeout.

  “One of them better be about why the alarm went off,” Law said, holding up a small device about the size of a cell phone, a blinking red light on the face of it.

  “You weren’t supposed to open the door,” Trip said.

  “I wouldn’t worry about her so much if I were you,” Hollie said. “She punched me in the face.”

  Trip climbed the steps and took a good look. “You didn’t do any damage, Norah. Remind me later to show you how to throw a punch.”

  “She doesn’t have the heft for it,” Law said, giving Hollie a wide berth as he walked around her and into the house. “I vote you get her a nice little handgun and take her to the range. It’ll save the wear and tear on the alarm pad, too,” he added with a sigh, dropping his bag and heading back out the door, to the electronics store, presumably. “Next time, Norah, take your aggression out on her, not the alarm,” he tossed back over his shoulder.

  “Bloodthirsty lot, aren’t you?”

  “Bloodthirsty?” Trip said, considering Hollie’s choice of words for a second or two. “Doesn’t have exactly the right ring to it.”

  “I’d say vengeful,” Norah said, “but it smacks of righteousness and well, my father is a criminal, so I’m not sure how righteous I can be. How about vindictive?”

  Trip shrugged. “I’ve been known to be vindictive on occasion. So, did she tell you what she wanted after you punched her?”

  “Yes. She’s got staying power, and a good amount of self-delusion. She wants us to let her come along so she can film a documentary.”

  Trip walked by her into the house, laughing the whole way.

  “I think that’s a no, but I appreciate the apology.” And Norah shut the door.

  “You don’t really believe she wants to do a documentary,” Trip said when she turned around.

  “I think we should take a good long look at the list of safe-deposit box owners and see where Hollie fits in.”

  “I’m already on it,” Trip said, taking out his cell phone. “We?”

  Norah shrugged. “My father isn’t going to be safe until this thing is settled.”

  “So you’re going to tell me where the loot is, right?”

  “Do I have any choice?”

  chapter 9

  HAGGARD, THAT’S HOW SHE SHOULD HAVE looked after yet another sleepless night, Norah thought, puzzled by the face looking back at her from the bathroom mirror. It was her face, sure enough, but she looked . . . definitely not haggard. There were no bags, for one thing. Her eyes were sort of . . . sparkling, she labeled them cautiously. And her skin was definitely brighter. Even her hair, which was usually well-behaved, was unmanageable—in a good way. The bathroom lights picked up the red that normally only made itself apparent in the sunlight, and it was curling, just a little wild, around her ears and at her nape.

  And then there was he
r attitude. She ought to be dreading the next two days, being cooped up in the Escape—ironic—for hours on end with Trip, not to mention there’d be a hotel room involved. That was a lot of alone time with a man who wound her up on so many levels. Yet here she was looking forward to the adventure. The fact that she could even consider it an adventure amazed her.

  She’d spent so much time planning her life, and there was a lot of satisfaction in ticking those accomplishments off her list, but that planning took a lot of time and energy, she realized. And it was stressful, agonizing over the goals and the timetable, then fretting about whether or not it was doable, and if she’d made the right decisions. All because it was the rational, stable thing to do. Rational, hah.

  Who knew she’d have so much fun walking into the unknown, that it wouldn’t matter to her to have people invade her life in strange, and sometimes violent, ways. Heck, that made it even more of an adventure.

  “You’re beautiful,” Trip said, appearing in the open bathroom door.

  Norah turned to look at him, her heart in her throat.

  He was checking his watch.

  She turned back, met her own eyes in the mirror, and thought, Of course. What made her pulse stutter was just a toss-off compliment to him, aimed at getting her moving. Just like that, her mood went from optimism to cynicism. She was going on an adventure all right, a real-life treasure hunt, complete with people who’d do whatever was necessary to get a piece of it. Unfortunately one of those people was Trip Jones. Working for the FBI didn’t make him a hero. In her world, it meant just the oppo—

  She jumped, heart pounding, slapping her hands over her ears as the house filled with the deafening whoop-whoop-whoop of a siren, lights flashing, just like red alert on a submarine. All that was missing was a sweaty Matthew McConaughey shouting, “Dive.”