Controversy (8 page)

Michael marched out the bathroom door and pretended to be unaffected by the fact that none of her sisters tried to stop her from leaving. To add insult to injury she also had to walk past Detective Dekker's table on her way out. Pride prevented her from casting her gaze in his direction, but it didn't mean she didn't feel the detective's heavy gaze follow her out of the restaurant.

She did.

She just didn't know whether it was a good thing or not. Something told her only time would tell.

T
he last thing Michael needed was a flat tire.

But after hearing the unmistakable thumping and feeling the constant jerk of the steering wheel, she couldn't think of a better way to cap a lousy week. Grudgingly, Michael pulled over on the Pacheco Pass. The four-lane freeway was as dark and desolate as the Nevada desert and almost just as scary.

“I swear if it wasn't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all,” Michael complained. She retrieved her cell phone from her purse. Even before she looked, she suspected her bad luck would extend to her phone's inability to get a signal.

And she was right.

“Just great!” She dropped her head back on the headrest and tried to calm herself by closing her eyes and counting to ten. When that didn't work, she went to twenty.

Then thirty.

Forty.

Okay. So it finally worked when she hit one hundred. She opened her eyes and clicked on her hazard lights before she climbed out of the car to check which tire was the culprit. It was the front passenger side that was as flat as a pancake. Because of the dark, she couldn't tell what had caused the blowout, but by rubbing her hands along the tire, she could feel the tire's large gash.

“What the hell?” she swore. “I just bought these damn tires!” Michael climbed back onto her feet and expelled a long tired breath. Her eyes scanned the dark, winding road and she wondered if it would be a blessing or a curse if someone stopped to help her.

It had been years, if not decades, since she had to personally change a flat, and being in a pair of tight-tight jeans and high-heeled sandals didn't exactly tickle her fancy to change one now in the dark.

“Okay. First things first,” she coached herself. “Where is the flashlight?” She opened the passenger door and dug her emergency flashlight out of the glove compartment.

A pair of headlights swept across the landscape and then rested on her.

Temporarily blinded by the spotlight, Michael shielded her eyes as caution tickled her neck. A large SUV pulled off the side of the road and parked behind her car.

Michael stood still, unsure of what to do in such a vulnerable position.
Refuse the help, get back into the car and lock the doors.

Just as she was about to heed the voice of reason in her head, a woman's voice floated out to her.

“Do you need any help?”

Relieved, Michael relaxed and flashed the faceless woman a smile. “I have a flat.”

The driver's door of the SUV opened, and this time a tall, bulky, faceless stranger stepped out. “I think we can help you with that,” the man said.

“Thanks. I appreciate that,” Mike said, feeling more than grateful to the kind couple. “Let me just pop the trunk. I have a jack and a spare back there.”

She entered her vehicle through the passenger side, where she crawled and stretched across the seat to reach the trunk button. She heard the telltale pop and then crawled back out. However, her helpers weren't waiting for her by the trunk, they were standing behind her.

Before she had the chance to question them, the bulky stranger grabbed her from behind and muffled her scream.

“Relax, Michael,” his rumbling baritone coaxed. “You know how this kidnapping thing goes.”

 

“C'mon, Kyson,” Khail said with his two favorite gold-star jump-off chicks looped on his arms. “Are you sure you want a rain check tonight? Porsche and Mercedes are ready to roll,” he teased. “If you know what I mean.”

“I
do
know what you mean,” Kyson said, removing his credit card from his wallet. “And I'm still going to have to pass.” Every year his brother took him out to dinner for his birthday, but somehow Kyson was the one left holding the check.

“All right,” Khail said, sounding nonplussed about his brother's decision. “I guess that means more for me.”

The girls giggled, but Mercedes, the one that spent the entire dinner rubbing on Kyson and popping bubble gum by his ear, looked disappointed.

“Sorry. Maybe next time.”

 

An indignant Michael kicked and squirmed, confident she was going to break her captors' hold on her at any minute.

“Just get her in the trunk,” the woman ordered.

“We don't have a trunk!” the man roared back.

Oh hell, no!
Michael stomped her heel down hard on her captor's foot.

“Ow!” His arms loosened.

Michael pivoted and, despite the dark, delivered a high-powered kick right between the man's legs.

He hit the ground with a loud “Oomph!”

Before Michael could think about exacting revenge on the woman, something hot whizzed by her ear a millisecond before she heard a
pop!

She's shooting at me!

 

Kyson rushed toward his car, trying to escape the giggling trio. “I hope the sacrifice is worth it, bro,” Khail said, sliding into the passenger seat of the ditsy twins' cherry-red convertible. “But don't worry. I'll send you a postcard from heaven.”

Kyson laughed and shook his head as he climbed in behind the wheel of his beloved fifteen-year-old Honda Accord. After he started the car and pulled out of the restaurant, his laugh downgraded into sporadic chuckles. It wouldn't surprise Kyson in the least if his brother left this world a dirty old man with two barely legal porn stars by his side.

Just like their grandfather.

And their father.

At least Khail was smart enough not to get married. How could he after watching the hell their mother went through, tracking down the women who'd lured their father away from home on a weekly and sometimes daily basis?

To this day, nothing unnerved Kyson more than the sound of a woman crying, which, in his line of work, happened more days than not. During his time in the department, his shoulder had soaked up its fair share of tears when he had to deliver the news of a loved one's being injured or killed in some senseless crime.

If the women weren't crying, they were angry or running around hysterically…sort of like the woman that was running up the street toward him now.

“What in the hell?” Kyson slammed down on his brakes. His tires screeched while he felt the back of his car fishtail. In the blink of an eye, he'd lost control of the car. His hands came off the steering wheel. A few heartbeats later, the car finally stopped, but he was completely turned around and would be facing oncoming traffic if he didn't hurry and get off the road.

Before he could get his senses back, the hysterical woman, who'd almost killed him, started banging the roof of his car.

“Help me! Help me!” she screamed. “They're trying to kidnap me!”

Once Kyson blinked out of his stupor, recognition settled in.
Michael Adams?

Recognition also dawned in her eyes.

Michael raced to the other side of his car and tried the door handle, but it was locked. That sent her hysteria to a new level.

“Unlock the door! Unlock the door!”

He complied because it looked as if she was going to wrench it off the frame.

Michael flew into the car like a hurricane, but before he could open his mouth to question her, a pair of headlights rounded the bend. Once again, she screamed.

“Move! Move! Move!”

Kyson hit the accelerator and jerked the steering wheel in a hard left. Neither of them breathed until they made it off the freeway just as an eighteen-wheeler whizzed by, leaving the Honda rocking on the side of the road.

Kyson glanced at his passenger. In less than one minute, his life had passed before his eyes—twice!

“Lady, are you crazy?” he snapped.

Wild brown eyes shot to meet his, causing him to regret his sudden outburst. That is, until she flew off the handle.

“You almost hit me,” she accused.

He stared. Blinking.

“You could have killed me,” she went on.

“Y-you were running up the middle of the street screaming,” he stammered. Griff was right. This woman
was
crazy.

“I was running in the middle of the street because someone was trying to kidnap me,” she said as if she was explaining something that actually made sense.

He stared. Blinking.

“I was running away from the kidnappers,” she added. “Drive up the road. You'll see my car around the bend.”

What else could he do but follow her orders? Maybe the faster he did this, the quicker he could get her out of his car. It suddenly didn't seem like a great idea to be alone with her.

Kyson pulled onto the main freeway. His gaze strayed back to his beautiful and buxom passenger and weighed whether she was genuine, crazy or on something.

His car rounded the bend and he saw a black Volvo pulled off to the side of the road.

“See? There's my car!”

“Uh-huh,” he said cautiously. “And your mysterious kidnappers?”

Michael cocked her head. “Were they supposed to wait for me to bring the cops back?”

Okay, he had that one coming. He pulled his car to a stop behind hers and cut on his own hazard lights. When it was clear she wasn't ready to step out of the car, he asked, “So what happened?”

She sank farther into the car seat and tilted her head back against the headrest. “It's all such a blur now,” she admitted, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I had a flat tire so I pulled over to the side of the road. When I got out of my car, this SUV pulled over behind me.” She licked her lips as if she was suddenly parched.

“Go on,” he urged.

As Michael retold what had happened, a part of her had yet to wrap itself around what had actually happened. It wasn't until the cop asked, “Who do you know who would want to cause you harm?” that she finally started laughing like a crazy person. Hell, it could take all night to run down the long list of people who wanted to get even for one prank or another.

In her lifetime, she concluded that very few people had a good sense of humor. Michael laughed a good while before she realized her handsome cop couldn't possibly understand what she found so amusing.

“Let's just say that I've pulled my fair share of practical jokes.”

“So this whole thing was some retaliation for a practical joke?” he said, trying to understand.

She'd almost said yes or even maybe before she realized that there was absolutely nothing funny about dodging bullets. “No. Definitely not,” she said, sobering.

The detective eyed her through the faint light of the car's dashboard before making a decision. “Stay right here.” He opened the driver's-side door and climbed out.

He most certainly didn't have to tell Michael twice. She watched as he walked in front of the car. His bright headlights showcased his tall, magnificent body. Almost instantly, she forgot about the danger of the past few minutes while her gaze glided appreciatively over what could only be described as a body that needed to be draped across the pages of
Playgirl
or at least across her bed.

“Lord have mercy, what I wouldn't do for a tall glass of
that
chocolate milk.” Her eyes followed him as he crouched down by her front passenger-side tire for an inspection. When he leaned in closer, she leaned forward for a better view of his butt.

Nice.

Kyson stood, walked around the car and even inspected the ground. Was he looking for the different set of tire tracks to corroborate her story? Irritation pricked her pride. Surely he believed her. Who would make up a story like this?

Finally, Kyson walked toward the car and tapped the passenger-side window.

Michael hit the power button and rolled down the window.

“I'm just going to change the tire and then I can follow you to the nearest police station so you can file a report.”

“A report?” she echoed, suddenly unsure. What if Phil was simply paying her back for the other night? Wouldn't that mean she would have to tell the police she'd lied to them when they'd come asking about her missing husband?

But what about the gun? Would Phil actually try to kill her?
Heck, she didn't even know whether it was a real gun, now that she thought about it.

“You know, I think I'd rather just go home,” she said, dropping her gaze. She knew that she sounded like a complete flake, but suddenly the whole situation seemed too complicated.

The detective studied her for a long moment. “Ms. Adams,
if
what you say is true then I advise you to file a police report.”

“Why?” she challenged. “You think they're going to believe me any more than you do?”