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John Harper offered a consoling smile. “Nicole, this will all be over in no time. You’ll see.”
She wasn’t consoled. Weeks—maybe months—away from her home and job didn’t seem like “no time” to her.
John pulled an envelope out of his inside coat pocket. “Scott filled you in on destination and identity. Tom’s been given most of the money, but we thought you should have some, too, just in case.”
Nicole took the envelope. “In case of what, John? Tom’s trustworthy, isn’t he?”
“He’s the best there is, Nicole. Don’t worry about that. He’s got eleven years with the department and has experience in every phase of law enforcement.”
“Tom’s not his real name.”
“No.”
Looking around one last time, Nicole sighed. “Come on,” John said gently. “You’ve got a long trip ahead of you.”
“One more question, John. Why are we driving to Idaho, rather than flying?”
“Everyone thought it would be best, Nicole. We’re keeping your departure as low-key as possible. There’s very little way of telling if some stranger follows you onto a plane, but driving north out of Vegas, the road is long and empty. Tom will know if anyone’s behind you.”
Nicole left several lights burning in the house, at John’s suggestion. They went through the back door and Nicole locked the dead bolt. She was carrying her purse, into which she’d tucked the envelope of cash. Her suitcases were jammed with clothes of every description. No one knew how long she’d have to stay away, and that was probably the hardest part of this whole discomfiting ordeal. At John Harper’s instruction she’d written a dozen cards to friends, all with the same carefully worded message. Family emergency calls me away. Don’t worry. I’ll be in touch. Hopefully the simple message would forestall someone panicking and raising a public fuss because they couldn’t reach her.
Tuck was leaning against the car. He straightened as Nicole and John approached. “All set?”
“All set,” John said quietly.
“Who’s driving?” Nicole questioned.
“I am,” Tuck said flatly.
Nicole got in the passenger side, Tuck got behind the wheel. John leaned down to peer through the open window. “Take care.”
“Yeah,” Tuck drawled, and started the motor.
Nicole fastened her seatbelt. The car backed out of her driveway without lights. They were two blocks away from her house before Tuck switched on the headlights. Nicole was battling tears and looking straight ahead.
Tuck took a maze of back streets to reach Highway 95. The fuel gauge indicated a full tank of gas. They wouldn’t have to make a stop for hours. He glanced at the woman sitting so silently and registered her rigid profile.
Her silence was welcome. He turned his attention back to the road.
Two (#ulink_42e86832-f9c0-5cc8-b136-972539e08587)
Once out of Vegas the road became black and almost eerily vacant. Highway 95 was an important link between Las Vegas and Reno, but away from those two cities, Nevada’s roads were sparsely traveled. Ten, fifteen minutes would pass between oncoming cars. There were none behind him, Tuck was certain. None with headlights at least.
He eyed his silent companion. “Mind if I turn on the radio?”
Nicole’s head barely moved in a brief glance. “Go ahead.”
Tuck turned on the power, drove with one hand and fiddled with the radio with the other, trying to pick up a station. After a few minutes he gave up. “There’s nothing but static.” The car was an inexpensive blue sedan, and apparently the radio was a weakly powered model.
Driving the dark road, Tuck’s thoughts turned to his last session with Dr. Keaton. I’m not going to preach to you, Tuck. You’re going to have to deal with your conscience in your own way. You did nothing wrong, and that’s what you must come to accept. He had answered, I did nothing illegal, Doc. She had slowly nodded her understanding.
He understood, too, which relieved none of the tension in his gut. What else could he ever be but a cop? And yet he couldn’t see himself back on the street and dealing with the myriad problems he’d previously faced so confidently.
This trip, this witness protection job, was eating at him. He shouldn’t have let Joe talk him into it. He didn’t want to protect anyone. He wasn’t wearing his gun, although he had it with him, tucked under his seat on the floor of the car. Joe had described the job as “cushy,” and maybe it would be. He’d been to northern Idaho once before and liked what he’d seen. Certainly it was different from southern Nevada, with lush, green-forested mountains and numerous lakes. Beautiful scenery, unquestionably. And the chance of Lowicki and Spencer tracking Cheryl so far north, once they discovered there was a witness who could unequivocally tie them to the murders, was slim to none.
But spending weeks with a woman he didn’t know, nor had any desire to know, was damn disturbing. He really hadn’t thought about the witness’s gender when Joe first brought up the subject, assuming, obviously, that they were talking about a man.
Well, there was nothing manly about “Cheryl King.” She was pure woman, every inch of her, and some exotic scent wafted his way every time she moved.
She wasn’t moving very much, he had to admit. It was as though her gaze was glued to the windshield. In the dash lights, her silhouette was board-stiff.
Tuck sent her a more open glance. “You don’t like this, do you?”
Nicole started, as though coming awake. “Pardon?”
“This whole setup. You don’t like it.”
She looked at the man behind the wheel. “No, I don’t like it.” She studied Tom for another moment, then returned her eyes to the road. “Have you done this before?”
“Not exactly,” he admitted.
“Scott said you have experience in all phases of law enforcement.”
“I’ve gone undercover before, just not to this extent. Doubt if too many people have gone to this extent,” he added dryly.
“I keep wondering if it’s really necessary,” Nicole said with some bitterness. “I’m probably going to lose my job over it.”
Tuck sent her another glance. “What do you do?”
“I’m the purchasing agent for the Monte Carlo.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Well, don’t be. I’ll probably have to start over as a clerk.”
Tuck’s lips tightened. He could lay all sorts of lies on her, but the fact was that right now no one could predict the outcome of this case.
“What I don’t understand,” Nicole said in that same bitter tone, “is why they’re sending me so far away. Why not L.A.? Or Phoenix? At least we wouldn’t have to drive for days.”
“We’ll be there before tomorrow night,” Tuck answered.
“Meaning you’re planning to drive straight through. Great,” Nicole said disgustedly. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do for twenty-four hours than ride, ride, ride.”
Tuck sent her a cold glance. “You probably have a right to gripe, but I don’t want to hear it. Complaining isn’t going to do one damn bit of good. And it won’t take twenty-four hours. Something under twenty is more like it.”
Nicole sat up straighter and gave this unsympathetic, incompassionate jerk a really good look. At the house she’d been so harried and confused she had barely acknowledged their introduction and only vaguely registered his appearance. Staring hard in the faint light from the dash dials, she saw a profile that looked cut from granite, with just about the same amount of warmth.
She’d had her fill of officious, overbearing behavior. From the moment she had made that call to Detective Harper about what she’d seen the night of the Buckley murders, someone had been breathing down her neck, telling her what she could and couldn’t do, mercilessly replanning her life—frightening her away from windows, for God’s sake—praising her courage one minute and in the next acting as though she hadn’t a brain in her head or wouldn’t know how to use it if she did.
“If you don’t like complaining, you’re the wrong man for this job,” she said with all of the anger she’d been feeling for days now, anger that she had repressed with great effort. “I will complain about anything and everything that rubs me wrong, Tom King, or whatever your name is, and I don’t particularly give a damn how you take it. I’m not here because I want to be and…”
“And you think I am?” Tuck shouted suddenly. “Well, think again!”
They fell silent, each of them startled by how quickly and fiercely their anger had flared. But though Nicole became slightly calmer, defiance was running through her veins, hot and heavy.
“If you didn’t want this job, why did you take it?” she questioned acidly. “Or was it forced on you?”
Tuck smirked. “There’s all kinds of force, lady. All kinds.”
“And I’m sure you know them all,” Nicole drawled with exaggerated sarcasm.
“Because I’m a cop?” Tuck laughed humorlessly. “I’m surprised a solid citizen like yourself would make disparaging remarks about cops.”
“I was speaking of only one cop, Mr. King. And while we’re being so nice and friendly with each other, let’s stop one portion of this ridiculous charade. My name is Nicole Currie, and I will not answer to Cheryl.”
Tuck muttered a curse. “I’ve got a damned good notion to turn this car around and drop you off on Joe Crawford’s doorstep.”
Nicole’s chin came up. “Why don’t you do that, Officer King? I’m sure Captain Crawford would welcome us both.” Her voice became less strident. “Tell me your real name. I can’t stand this cloak-and-dagger idiocy. For this thing to work, we’re going to have to trust each other. I’ve trusted you with my real name, and I would appreciate the same courtesy from you.”
Tuck drove on, saying nothing for a long time. Nicole finally turned away with a long-suffering sigh. “This is going to be a miserable experience, and I pray to God our association is extremely short-lived,” she said wearily.
Several miles went by. “It’s Tuck,” he said low and tensely. “Tuck Hannigan. In front of anyone else, we’re Cheryl and Tom King, understand?”
Nicole’s head slowly came around. “Understood, and thank you. Do you know that because of that small piece of information I have more confidence in you?”
He was waiting for his name to sink in. If she’d read the papers or watched the evening news on television six weeks back, she had to have heard it. As for her having more confidence in him, he couldn’t care less. The one thing that wasn’t going to happen during this job was the two of them getting chummy. He had enough problems of his own to sort through without adding the complication of a personal relationship. He’d just as soon keep this whole thing as impersonal as possible.
However, there was one aspect of this fiasco that needed discussion. He spoke tonelessly. “We’re going to be posing as Tom and Cheryl King. What we have to decide is how we happen to have the same last name.” Nicole turned her head to watch him. “There are several options. I’m sure you can figure out what they are.”
Nicole cleared her throat. “Uh, how about brother and sister?”
“That might work. So could pretending to be cousins. But if we’re both supposedly single people, we might draw some unwanted attention.”
“You mean, like a woman getting interested in you.”
“Or a man thinking he’d like to know you better. We’re going to avoid people as much as possible, but my professional opinion is that we would be less noticeable as a married couple.”
Nicole started chewing on her poor thumbnail again. Posing as this man’s wife would entail what? “Um…how far would we have to go to prove our marital status?” she asked uneasily.
He sent her a disgusted look. “We won’t be sharing the same bed, if that’s what you’re thinking, so relax. This is strictly a job to me, strictly business.” He drew a breath and retracted some of his anger. “Look, in front of other people we’ll have to act as though we know and like each other. That’s as far as it’ll ever have to go. Understand?”
“Yes,” she said quietly, though her nervous system was anything but calm. She leaned her head against the cool window of the door. God, how had she gotten herself into this unholy mess? She had never, ever had anything to do with police officers and the law; there’d never been any reason. She’d never even been to court for a traffic ticket, and now she was going to have to appear as a witness in what would probably be a sensational murder trial. Her own life was in danger, just for being a good citizen.
Tears stung her eyes and nose, and she lifted her head away from the window to go into her purse for some tissues.
Tuck caught on that she was crying and trying to keep it quiet. Keeping his eyes on the road, he pretended not to notice. Still, he felt some sympathy for Nicole Currie. The population seemed to be divided, one portion committing the crimes, the other attempting to lead a good and decent life. When those two segments overlapped in any way, there was always trouble. Nicole hadn’t asked for trouble; she had merely stumbled into it. But if the decent side of society never got involved, the crime rate would rise at an even more rapid rate than it was doing in every city and town across the country. The police needed people like her, folks who called in to report odd or unusual occurrences. Many a criminal had been brought down because of a simple telephone call from a conscientious citizen.
Of course, few were asked to give up weeks of their life as Nicole was doing. Yeah, he felt sorry for her, but what good would saying so do? She had her self-pity, he had his..
His mouth thinned. Was that what was causing the constant ache in his gut, self-pity? Was self-pity the same as regret? Remorse? And why should he feel any remorse? He had undoubtedly saved the life of that convenience store clerk.
Tense again, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Nicole gave him a look. “Must you smoke?”
His answer was to roll down his window about six inches.
She turned her head in disgust. Tuck Hannigan might be a good cop, but he was not a nice guy. Pity his wife or girlfriend, she thought. If he had one.
For some reason his name began tweaking her memory. Tuck Hannigan…Tuck Hannigan. She’d heard it before, but how? Where?
And then it came to her. Sergeant Tucker Hannigan had been in the news for killing two men in a convenience store holdup! She sent him a furtive glance, wondering how he felt about that, wondering, too, if he did have a wife and maybe kids. When he wasn’t on duty, was he a nicer person? Did he laugh and converse and do ordinary things for fun?
It was hard to imagine him smiling and relaxed. He was the most rigidly controlled person she’d ever met. He’d said this was just another job to him, so how did he view her? Probably as a nuisance, she thought resentfully. Certainly he wasn’t treating her as a living, breathing woman with a personality and a brain.
To hell with him. Feeling around for levers down at the right of her seat, she was relieved to find one that released the seat back. It fell back suddenly, causing Tuck’s head to jerk around. “What’re you doing?”
“Getting comfortable,” she retorted, lying back and closing her eyes. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since the onset of this fiasco, and every cell in her body ached with exhaustion. She was asleep in seconds.
Tuck drove through the black night thinking and smoking. Sometimes he only smoked and watched the road. Catching sight of a pair of headlights in the rearview mirror, he slowed down. The vehicle was moving fast, and it soon caught up with him and then passed him doing at least eighty. It was a white sports car and he jotted down the license plate number when it was visible in his own headlights.
The road was monotonous. He passed through the towns of Beatty, Scotty’s Junction and Goldfield, and finally approached Tonopah, which was a good two hundred miles out of Vegas. Needing gas, he pulled into a brightly lighted truck stop.
Nicole sat up. “Where are we?”
“Tonopah. I’m getting gas. If you need to use the facilities, do it now.”
“What time is it?”
“Around two.”
“I’m hungry.”
Tuck looked around. There were half a dozen eighteenwheelers parked with their motors idling, two more at the diesel pumps, and a smattering of cars and pickups parked near the restaurant. No sign of the white sports car.
“Get something to go,” he said brusquely. “Do you have money?”
“Yes. Would you like something to eat?”
“Coffee will do. Black, no sugar. Make it a large. And don’t waste time.”
They got out and went inside, Tuck to the gas attendant to pay in advance for the gas, and Nicole to the ladies’ room. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt depressed. Tired, dejected eyes looked back at her.
Dampening a paper towel-with cold water, she held it to her eyes for a few minutes. Then, remembering Tuck’s domineering “don’t waste time,” she used the commode, washed her hands and hurried to the restaurant. Sitting at the counter, she put in her order with a weary-looking waitress.
Tuck had the car gassed and the motor idling when she came out with two bags. He drove away the second she was in the car, irritating her, though she said nothing about it and dug into the sacks.
“Here’s your coffee.” She held out a large foam cup. “I also bought an extra hamburger, in case you might want one.”
“Maybe I’ll eat it later. Just leave it on the seat.”
