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No “Thanks.” No sign of gratitude for her thoughtfulness. Nicole’s mouth tightened. “You’re welcome, Officer Hannigan,” she said with piercing sarcasm.
He shot her a dark look. “I only asked for coffee. But if it’s so important to you, thank you very much.”
He’d spoken sarcastically, too. Nicole had to forcibly stop herself from continuing the impolite conversation, which could only get worse. They should at least try to get along.
Unwrapping her hamburger, she took a bite and found it to be exceptionally good. So was the coffee.
The sedan sped through the night on the dark and lonely road.
“John Harper said we would be staying in Coeur d’Alene.” Nicole said, breaking the silence in the car.
“Not in Coeur d’Alene. Near Coeur d’Alene.” Tuck took a swallow of his coffee.
“Near? What does that mean?”
“We’ll be staying in a cabin on the lake. Coeur d’Alene Lake.”
“Oh, there’s a lake.”
“A very beautiful lake. Northern Idaho has a lot of beautiful lakes. The whole area is beautiful.”
“Then you’ve been there before?”
“Once…a few years back.”
Nicole finished her hamburger and wadded up the wrapping. “Who owns the cabin?”
“A close friend of a high-ranking police officer. A friend of my captain, as a matter of fact. The guy who talked me into taking this job.”
His cynical tone raised Nicole’s hackles. “Sorry to be such a burden, but this certainly wasn’t my idea,” she snapped.
No, it wasn’t her idea, and Tuck felt another spurt of sympathy, which he again kept to himself. Nicole Currie might deserve sympathy, but she didn’t need to hear it from him. Before this was over she’d either be a lot tougher than she was now, or she would crumble. He hoped it would be the first.
At Tonopah, Tuck had decided to cut east across Nevada and join up with Highway 93, thereby avoiding the traffic around the Reno and Carson City area. He said nothing to Nicole about it, because he could tell that while she stared almost constantly at the road, it wasn’t because she was interested in or even aware of her surroundings. Her worried thoughts were directed toward herself, which he probably understood better than most people would have. It was almost as though they had something in common, which wasn’t true when their troubling recent experiences were so diverse. But they both had problems to deal with, and that did seem to give them a little common ground.
The term “common ground” gave Tuck pause. He glanced at his passenger. “We should probably get some sort of story put together for our background.” Absently then, keeping one eye on the road, he reached for the hamburger on the seat.
Nicole turned slightly to see him. “Such as?”
“Where we’re from, where we met, do we have any family, that sort of thing.”
“Oh. Do you think people will ask?”
“Not if I can help it, but it wouldn’t do for you to answer a question about our common past one way and me answer it another. We really are going to try to avoid people, but we should be prepared, just in case.”
“Fine,” she said listlessly. “Tell me what to say. Frankly, my own imagination isn’t functioning on high at the present.”
“Well…let’s make us both orphans. Parents dead, each of us being an only child. Um, let’s say we met back east, got married, lived in Nevada for a while and decided to try Idaho. That would explain the Nevada plates on this car.”
“Where back east?”
“Ever been in the east?”
“Only between flights when I vacationed in Europe. But I’ve been in Texas, the Abilene area.”
“That’ll work. I’ve been there, too. Forget the east, and tell people, if they’re nosy enough to ask, that we met in Abilene.”
After passing through the small town of Warm Springs, there was a long stretch of vacant road through Railroad Valley. Tuck hadn’t seen a car in a good half hour when his own began acting up.
Nicole noticed the sputtering of the engine. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t know. Maybe the fuel line.” Scowling, Tuck pumped on the accelerator and the engine evened out. A breakdown out here wouldn’t be funny. The next town of any size was Ely, still more than a hundred miles away. He might come upon a service station before Ely, but on this road in the middle of the night there wasn’t much chance of a mechanic hanging around hoping for a customer.
Every few minutes the engine sputtered and coughed again. Nicole had started listening for it and Tuck was getting a little more tense each time it happened.
“What if it stops running out here?” Nicole said worriedly. There wasn’t another car in sight, not even a distant light signifying human habitation.
Tuck’s jaw was clenched. “Just pray it doesn’t,” he muttered. He had the feeling the damned engine was going to die any second, and he wished he had stayed on Highway 95, which had more towns and traffic than this road.
Then he squinted at the lights he saw ahead. “There’s something coming up,” he said. Since there wasn’t a town marked on his map, he figured it might be a ranch. To his surprise, it was a gas station and a small motel. The gas station was closed for the night, and he supposed so was the motel. But they each bore lights on tall poles, the name of the motel spelled out in neon.
He pulled the bucking car into the parking area of the buildings. Nicole frowned at the dark and silent service station. “I don’t think you’re going to get any help at this place.”
“Not till morning,” Tuck said. “Wait here.” Getting out, leaving the engine idling—wheezingly—he stalked to the door of the motel office.
In the car Nicole sighed and laid her head back against the seat. Things just kept getting worse. Not more than a week ago she was a reasonably happy woman with a challenging job, some good friends, and a home she liked and enjoyed. Now here she was in the middle of nowhere, in a pitch-black night, running from killers, with a man she neither knew nor liked, and with a broken-down car in the bargain.
Tuck read the small sign above a button. Ring Buzzer For Late Night Service. He looked around. The motel had about seven units and there were only three cars parked in front of three doors. He pushed on the button.
Almost at once he heard movement from inside. The office lights flashed on, then a sleepy-eyed, middle-aged man in an undershirt and a pair of dark pants with suspenders opened the door.
“I need a room,” Tuck said flatly.
“Come in.” The man left the door hanging open and walked around a counter. He shoved a card and a pen at Tuck. “Fill it out.”
Tuck picked up the pen. “Do you have a room with two beds?”
“The only room I have left has one bed. But it’s queen-size.”
“Okay.” Tuck filled in the blanks and laid down the pen.
The man handed him a key. “Room number six. That’ll be forty dollars.”
“Forty?” Seemed pretty high for a squalid little motel like this.
“Forty,” the man confirmed.
Tuck dug out two twenties and handed them over. “What time does the gas station open in the morning?”
“Around eight.”
“Do they have a mechanic?”
“Not regular. But they got a guy on call.”
“What about food? Is there a café or something nearby?”
“Just across the road.”
Tuck glanced out the door and saw a squat little structure without lights. “Thanks.”
Carrying the key, he walked outside. The office lights immediately went off behind him. He headed for the car and got in.
“Got a room for the rest of the night,” he said while driving toward room number six.
Nicole gave him a startled look. “One room?”
“We’re married, remember?” he said dryly.
“I hope it has two beds.”
“It doesn’t.”
She stiffened. “Well, where are you going to sleep?”
He shot her a dirty look and pulled the car to a stop. “Bring in only what you have to.”
Opening the trunk of the car, he hauled out the smallest of his suitcases. “Which one of yours do you want?”
“I’ll get it myself,” Nicole answered sullenly.
Tuck shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Together, each with a small suitcase, they walked to the door of room number six. Tuck inserted the key and unlocked the door, then pushed it open and felt around for a light switch.
The room was plain and drab but appeared to be clean. As the man had said, it had a queen-size bed. Tuck set down his suitcase. “In case you’re interested, the gas station opens at eight. They have a mechanic on call, so with any luck at all we should be rolling again before noon. In the meantime, get some sleep.”
Nicole was staring at the bed. One bed. “I am not sharing a bed with you,” she said frostily.
“Then sleep in the damn chair.” Tuck yanked off the bedspread, rolled it into a tube and placed it down the center of the bed. “I get the side facing the door. Use the other, if you want. Believe me, lady, your chastity is in no danger from me. Even if I was so inclined, which I’m not, I’m too damn tired to do anything about it.” He disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Three (#ulink_7c2b96bd-d1c1-5a5d-82e8-2557f61ef9af)
Nicole stood there tired and drained. Sharing a motel room with a man she had met no more than five hours ago was affronting, even if he had rather cleverly devised a barrier down the middle of the bed. Setting her suitcase on the floor, she went to a chair and wearily sat down. Tears were very close, burning her eyes and throat and making her head feel tight and achy. The room, though plain and outdated, seemed clean enough, except for the carpet, which was dingy from age and hard usage.
What was she doing here? The question hit her benumbed brain without mercy. She should be home, in her own bed. She thought of all the postcards and notes she had written to her friends, and her lips clamped together in a thin line. Some of them would accept her brief message without question, but there were a few who might have a lot of questions. For one thing, the only close family she had was her mother, who lived in Florida. There were a handful of aunts, uncles and cousins scattered across the country, but Nicole’s nearest and dearest friends knew that she didn’t stay in touch with her distant relatives. “Family emergency” was a pretty vague message and apt to raise more questions than it answered.
As for her mother, Nicole had ignored John Harper’s orders and written Jane Currie a letter. She’d tried to make it one of her normal letters, with only a few lies about a business trip for the Monte Carlo, knowing that a postcard with a ridiculous message would only alarm the older woman. The letter would buy her some time with her mother, Nicole felt, and maybe this mess would come to a head before Jane did become alarmed.
The bathroom door swung open and Tuck walked out. Seeing Nicole in a forlorn heap on the chair, he squared his shoulders to forestall another bout of sympathy.
“I’m going outside for a minute.”
Her eyes lifted to his and for a moment, the first time really, their gazes connected. A peculiar tingling traveled Nicole’s spine, a discomfiting sensation. Turning her head, she nodded. He walked past her and out the door.
Sighing despondently, she got to her feet, picked up her case and went into the bathroom.
Tuck unscrewed the bulb in the light fixture next to the door, then stood in the dark and scanned the area. Everything was silent and he felt none of the wariness he normally did when faced with danger.
Going to the car, he quietly opened the driver’s door, got his gun from under the seat, locked the car and returned to tighten the bulb before entering the motel room. There was a dead bolt and a chain on the door, and he used both. Then, placing his holstered gun—and his pack of cigarettes—on the nightstand, he kicked off his boots and stretched out on top of the blanket on his side of the bed. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes. He was tired through and through, and a few hours of sleep seemed like a gift.
Turning on his side, with his back to the tube of bedspread, he shut his eyes.
Nicole opened the bathroom door and turned off the light at the same time. The lights were still on in the bedroom and Officer Hannigan was already in bed. Or rather, he was on the bed, his back to her, fully clothed except for his boots.
Her gaze went from the chair to the vacant side of the bed, back and forth several times. It was no contest, she finally decided. She had to lie down and if Hannigan could sleep in his clothes, she could damn well sleep in hers.
“Turn off the lights.”
“Oh! I thought you were sleeping.” Nicole went to the light switch by the door and flipped it off. The room was instantly pitch-black, and she had to feel her way to her side of the bed.
But once there and lying down, she heaved a sigh of pleasure. She had worried about falling asleep, but she was dead to the world in three minutes.
Only half-awake, Tuck reached for a cigarette. Then he remembered who was sleeping on the other side of that mound of bedspread and pulled his hand back. Sitting up, he put his feet on the floor and checked his watch: 7:15 a.m. Standing, he headed for the bathroom and a shower.
Nicole began to stir. The shower was running. Suddenly recalling where she was, her eyes jerked opened and she sat up. Hannigan’s side of the bed was vacant. Then she spotted the gun on the nightstand. Gnawing at her bottom lip, she stared at the black leather holster and the weapon. She hated guns and was on the political side of much stricter gun control.
But Hannigan was a cop, and cops had to carry weapons.
Tom King…Tuck Hannigan. And she was supposed to be Cheryl King, his wife. God, had ever a more mismatched couple run into each other? He was rude, cold, and had the compassion and sense of humor of a rock. She had never liked people of his ilk, much preferring those who laughed at silly jokes and themselves. Hannigan was so uptight he probably never smiled let alone laughed.
Getting off the bed, Nicole walked over to the window, opened the short drapes a crack and peered out. The sun was bright, making the morning air glisten. Across the street was a wood-sided building with a simple, painted sign: Café. She smiled. The no-name café was a welcome sight. A cup of good, hot coffee was exactly what she needed.
Tuck came out of the bathroom. “Get away from the window.”
Nicole whirled around. “I only had the curtains open a crack.” She registered his damp hair, shiny jaw and clean shirt. It dawned on her then that he was unusually good-looking. Tall and long-legged, with a lean but muscular build, and a handsome, brooding face. Her lips pursed because she didn’t want to think him good-looking. He wasn’t just a man, he was her protector, and a damned rude one, to boot.
Tuck set down his suitcase. “I’m going over to that café and get us some breakfast. What would you like?”
“Why can’t I go?”
“Because you can’t. What do you want to eat?”
“Must you be so rude?”
“Rude?” He looked away for a moment then returned harder eyes to her. “This isn’t a game, lady, and the sooner you get that through your head, the better we’ll get along.”
“We’ll get along only if I jump to your commands.”
