Читать книгу Babes In Arms - Sara Orwig - Страница 8

One

“You can pick up your check from Della. Thanks again on this last case,” Abe Swenson, the red-haired Payne County sheriff said. “You know if you ever want to go full-time with us—”

“Sorry,” Colin interrupted him. “As an honorary deputy I have more freedom, and I’m enjoying ranching.” He didn’t add that every time he took on police work, he swore it would be the last.

“You better head home soon. I’ve been getting weather bulletins. Highways are closing all across the northern and eastern part of the state. Our bus terminal closed twenty minutes ago.”

Colin nodded. “Old Blue does pretty well in snow.”

“Yeah, well, we may have an ice storm before tonight.”

“Thanks, Abe.” Colin stopped by the desk, flirting a moment with Della while she gave him his check. He pulled his shearling coat closed, jammed his black Stetson on his head and pushed open the glass door.

Snow swirled and fell silently, coating sidewalks, frosting the yellow dried Bermuda grass, turning to slush in the streets. Striding to the bed of a battered robin’s-egg-blue pickup, he adjusted the tarp over the sacks of groceries piled in the back and then climbed inside, moving into the Friday afternoon traffic. He headed down Sixth toward the university. Bumper-to-bumper student traffic slowed him to a creeping pace.

He turned onto the strip, moving past shops, beer parlors and restaurants, watching two guys throw snowballs at three pretty coeds, feeling a moment’s pang of loneliness, which was gone as swiftly as it came.

He crept to the next light and slowed as the yellow switched to red. To his right at the curb across the intersection, a woman stepped out of a car. She closed and locked the car and glanced up and down the street. Taller than average, yet looking thick through the middle in her bulky hip-length brown parka, she had a wrinkled gray cap pulled over her head, owlish glasses perched on her nose and baggy jeans. She carried a bulky leather bag held over her shoulder by a strap.

The woman dashed across the side street against traffic, crossing in spite of the light. A car slid on the snow and honked at her as she turned to cross the street in front of Colin. She glanced his way and he gazed into wide green eyes. Beneath the gray cap, her hair was pulled back into a bun. She reached the curb and disappeared into a bookstore.

“Stupid broad,” Colin muttered. He adjusted the rearview mirror. Behind him in the next block two men in black topcoats climbed out of a shiny car and hurried toward the bookstore.

Overdressed for the day, the men were not typical of the small university town, and Colin’s cop’s instinct kicked in as he remembered the wide-eyed look the woman had given him.

“You’re imagining things, Whitefeather,” he said aloud to himself while the light changed. He shifted and drove on, looking at the two men as they walked down the street. They didn’t glance to the right or left, and every instinct in him screamed muscle. “Stay out of it.”

He hunched over the wheel, listening to the clack of the wipers when he turned in front of the fire station and glimpsed the campus. Snow bathed it in pristine beauty, the red brick of Old Central looking warm and solid, its green cupola at the peak of the roof still showing beneath an icing of snow. Boughs of evergreens draped in white dipped earthward and students clad in bright parkas reminded Colin of colorful birds as they crossed the sprawling campus.

“Oh, hell,” Colin said, signaling at the next corner and circling the block. “You’ll stick your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he grumbled to himself, yet he couldn’t get the woman’s face out of his mind, the big eyes that looked frightened. Because of one-way streets, he had to drive two blocks to circle back onto Station Avenue again. As he paused at the intersection and glanced up and down, he noticed another burly man in a parka headed toward the bookstore from a block away to the south.

“Someone should give you guys a lesson in how to blend into your surroundings,” Colin mumbled, shifting and swinging into traffic on Station.

It was a moment before he spotted her walking toward him on the right side of the street. Except for her height, she would have faded into the crowd. The two topcoats were striding toward her from the north end of the street, so she was boxed in.

A voice inside him, screaming to stay out of it, lost its battle as Colin swung the car closer to the curb and threw open the door on the passenger side. “Get in. I’m a cop and I’ll get you away from them.”

Her big eyes focused on him and for an instant he forgot the danger and felt lost in depths of green. The moment became timeless. He became conscious of everything around him, the noise of car engines, the swishing sounds of tires in slush, the swirling snow. She stared back, an unwavering, probing look that narrowed the world into an awareness of just her. Other sounds and sights faded from his mind as he stared at her with as much intensity as if she had reached out and touched him.

Then she shook her head, her eyes widening while she glanced around, reminding him of a trapped animal. The topcoats had increased their pace and were only half a block away. When Colin looked at her again, she was entering a restaurant. Colin slammed the door and drove past the two men as they rushed toward the restaurant.

Ignoring gut feelings to stay out of her problem, he turned at the corner and signaled, swinging into the alley. He guessed right. She emerged from the back of the restaurant and hurried toward him. He opened the door again.

“I’m telling the truth. I am a cop.”

She glanced over her shoulder as the two men stepped into the alley. With a swirl of her coat, she climbed into the pickup and slammed the door. Telling himself he was every kind of fool, Colin threw the pickup into reverse while a faint, sweet scent of roses filled the interior.

As soon as the pickup rolled out of the alley into the street Colin accelerated, taking the next corner without slowing. He fished his billfold out and flipped it open, turning to the badge that he carried.

“Here,” he said, tossing the open billfold into her lap. He turned another corner, sped several blocks down a street and went through an alley. Emerging from the alley, he whipped around the corner, speeding along more streets and alleys until he braked in the middle of an alley and turned into a small garage.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was low and filled with alarm, the drawl of the South softening the r’s in her speech.

“Losing them. I’m covering our tracks. Just a minute,” he said, taking the keys and climbing out to push the garage door closed. Two windows in the garage allowed dim light as Colin climbed back into the pickup. Silence enveloped them.

“Tracks into this garage will show,” she said, sounding terrified. She had unbuckled her seat belt and was against the door, her gloved fingers on the handle as if she were ready to run.

“After another five minutes our tracks will be obliterated. The flakes are big now and coming down fast.”

Katherine Manchester was frightened, yet wanted to trust him. If only he weren’t a policeman. And if only he weren’t so big. She eyed his broad shoulders, covered by the shearling coat. He filled the interior of the pickup. One look at his long legs, folded in the narrow space, and she knew he was a tall man. She met a direct brown-eyed gaze that studied her with enough intensity to make her nervous. “Do you live here?”

“No, this isn’t my home. A friend lives here and he’s on duty now, so he won’t be home. We’ll sit here for a few minutes. I’m Colin Whitefeather.”

She hesitated, debating whether to give him her real name or not. When she didn’t answer right away, she noticed his eyes narrowed. “I’m Katherine Manchester,” she said carefully, giving her real name and watching him to see if there was any recognition. To her relief, his expression didn’t change.

“Welcome to Stillwater, Katherine,” Colin said in a friendly tone, and Katherine felt as if something inside her was loosening. She fought against the feeling, knowing she didn’t dare relax. The man was a cop, for heaven’s sake, even if it was only honorary! His long, shaggy hair gave him a wild appearance, and his broad shoulders beneath the thick coat gave an aura of power and command that frightened her, yet at the same time, so far, he had been only kind and helpful. Almost too good to be true, and she waited warily.

“Just a minute.” Colin climbed out and untied the tarp, rummaging in sacks and finding a package of cookies, a sack of apples and a carton of milk. He climbed back into the truck and held the groceries out to her. “Here are some snacks.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking them. She pulled out a tissue to polish and clean the apples, handing one to him.

“They’ll watch your car,” Colin stated quietly.

Chewing a bite of apple, her gaze returned to him. “Is there an airport or bus station here?”

“The commercial flights are grounded and the bus station closed a little while ago because of the storm,” he answered, seeing a flicker of worry in her eyes. Was she just going to abandon the car? As he stared at her, looking at prominent cheekbones, a straight nose and full lips that made a man fantasize, he realized she was trying to hide her beauty. Her face was covered with thick makeup, her eyebrows penciled to look heavier. For the first time, he spotted the red roots to the mousy brown hair. She had tried to change her appearance and he realized that she had downplayed her looks, smudging makeup beneath her eyes, trying to change the shape of her brows and mouth. As he looked at her dowdy, nondescript clothing, he remembered her shiny black car.

He glanced again at the red roots, imagining glossy red hair. He suspected she was tall and willowy and a real looker—with heavy muscle after her. He wondered about Las Vegas and a mob. She was someone’s girlfriend or she had stolen something or knew something. For the kind of muscle involved and her obvious fear, money had to be part of her flight The purse was kept constantly at her fingertips and he guessed she was packing a pistol.

She opened the carton of milk, taking a long drink, and Colin wondered when she had last eaten.

The faint rumble of a car motor grew louder. Even beneath the heavy makeup, her face paled. She stopped chewing, inhaling swiftly, and he had the feeling that she was holding her breath. Her hand clutched the purse until her knuckles were white. She wore no rings on her slender fingers with short, neatly clipped nails. The sound of the motor increased. A car was slowly creeping along the alley.

Colin reached behind his back beneath his jacket to withdraw the 9 mm automatic pistol he carried tucked into his waistband. He watched the door of the garage.

“Maybe you should get down until they’re gone,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual. He glanced in the rearview mirror while she slid down on the floor.

The low growl of a motor went past and faded. As Colin replaced his pistol, he jerked his head. “It’s gone,” he said, and she moved awkwardly back onto the seat.

“We’ll wait a while before we leave here.”

“You can let me out somewhere on campus.”

“They’ll be watching your car and probably the bus station, even though it’s closed. There’s no train.”

She ran a hand over her eyes and turned to stare at the snow-covered garage window. “Have you heard a weather report?”

“The storm is supposed to get worse. I have to head northeast from here. My ranch is several miles from town. I can take you to Pawnee and you can get a bus out of there to Tulsa, where you can get a plane.”

White teeth caught a full underlip and he inhaled as he stared at her rosy mouth, a sudden curiosity plaguing him over what it would be like to feel the softness of her full lips. Crazy notion, an inner voice cautioned. The lady was pure trouble, the kind he did not need. He had already volunteered to drive to Pawnee in a blinding blizzard, which meant he could get snowbound in Pawnee or be until nightfall getting home.

“Thank you, but if you’ll just let me out on campus, I’ll manage.”

Let her out and tell her goodbye. “You won’t get out of town. This is too small a place to get lost easily, and they’ll find you,” he persisted, wondering if he was losing his wits. He ought to be thankful she wanted to be rid of him. And she wasn’t reassured by his badge—that opened more questions, and again he thought of a Vegas showgirl who might know too much for her own good. Except this one didn’t look like a showgirl. Far from it. Or she could be carrying money in the purse. Or drugs. There was a thought, Whitefeather, he told himself with a silent, cynical sneer.

“I think I can manage,” she persisted, and he let it drop. Get rid of the woman because she could only be trouble. She’d made her choice.

They sat in silence for a few minutes and then she opened the chocolate cookies carefully and offered him one which he took. He ate a cookie, watching her bite daintily into one and chew, the tip of her pink tongue flicking out to catch a tiny crumb of chocolate on her lower lip and suddenly he wanted to lean forward and taste her mouth, chocolate and all. What was it about her that stirred the erotic thoughts? With her unattractive clothes and heavy makeup, he should barely give her a thought, yet the woman stirred him in the most basic male way. Disgruntled, he shifted in the seat to look at the garage door and glance again at his watch.

“You’re a policeman and a rancher?”

“A rancher and an honorary deputy. The sheriff hires me occasionally. I prefer ranching. It’s more peaceful.”

She looked as if she doubted what he was saying, and he wondered again what kind of trouble she was in.

He glanced at his watch and opened the door. “It’s probably been long enough. The bad thing—my pickup is noticeable, but there are two others in town as blue as this one.”

He opened the garage door, backed out and closed it again.

As soon as he slid behind the wheel, she turned to him. “The garage door was open when we came.”

“It was closed when that car drove down the alley. I’ll tell my friend I was here and closed it.” As Colin turned onto the street, he couldn’t spot any black car cruising nearby. “Want out any particular place on campus? The Union will have the most people going in and out.”

“Fine,” she said, clutching the purse tightly again.

He drove six blocks before he had to turn onto a street where traffic was heavy. While snow swirled and the wipers clacked like a slow metronome, they inched along. Colin wiped the steamed windows with the back of his gloved hand. He glanced into the rearview mirror and saw a black car come out of a parking lot and turn into traffic two blocks behind him. He drove two more blocks and turned left. In seconds he saw the black car moving into the line of cars behind him.

“This isn’t your day,” he said quietly. “I think we picked up a tail.”