The Lawman Meets His Bride (20 page)

“Here,” he said, “put this on. I’ll steer while you just put it on over your jacket. Not much of a fashion statement, but it’s just for now.”

“What is it?”

“The Kevlar vest that saved my life in Kalispell. See, that gives it powers as an amulet to ward off harm. It’s good luck now.”

“Good, then you wear it. I’m already lucky,” she told him. “I meet dangerous men and live a life of derring-do.”

“Thanks for the compliment, but humor me, okay?”

“Well…I always
have
wanted to wear one of those,” she admitted.

“Atta girl. It’s a little big for you, but your clothes under it will bulk you out. Here, I’ll steer while you put it on.”

It was a clumsy operation while driving, but she managed to wriggle into the surprisingly light and flexible vest.

The final stretch of the Summer Trail turned corkscrew, winding through a series of gullies washed red with eroded soil.

“Quinn?”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t need this vest to figure something out by now.”

“That being…?”

“Most of the authorities only mean to arrest you, but there’s a few persons who want you….”

“More permanently removed,” he finished for her cheerfully.

“Yes. So if you were arrested, by honest authorities, I mean, couldn’t you still use your evidence in your defense?”

“Possibly, but see, it gets problematic if I’m arrested. Don’t forget, even if I’m legitimately busted, say by state troopers, that could still leave both of us high and dry. I’d never be able to bond out after running once. These guys would have no trouble arranging for an ‘accident’ while I’m rotting in jail. And then what about you?”

His hand cupped the back of her neck, the touch thrilling her and firing a quick surge of physical need.

But the next moment both of them were jostled hard when the Jeep plunged through a hard dip. County Line Road was only about five minutes away now, perhaps another few hundred feet lower.

He went on. “Even if they can snuff me, they’ll sweat over what you might know—what you might
say.
”

The implications of his remark made her heart speed up for a few moments. But again she reminded herself—the danger meant nothing to her if Quinn was innocent.

“So the best shot for both of us,” he added, “is to get this evidence of mine to an honest judge, establish probable cause for warrants, then get federal
marshals to immediately raid the offices and homes of a few key players.”

Snow flew thicker now, and she switched the wipers to high speed. The Jeep began to level out as the slope ended. Two minutes and we’ll be on pavement, she rallied herself.

“Exactly who,” she asked him, “do you think actually ordered you…maybe even
us
killed? Ulrick?”

“That one’s got me treed,” he admitted. “Remember, I’m outside their inner circle, excluded from the power elite. It might just be understood among them, with no actual order being given. But I’d say the nod came from Dolph Merriday. Ulrick’s a wimp, but Merriday is strong-willed and he’s got national political ambitions. A felony prosecution would probably sink his hopes.”

“
Why
are you outside the inner circle?” she pressed.

“Hey, that wasn’t a complaint, just an observation.”

“You’re avoiding the question, counselor,” she teased him. “Why are you outside the inner circle? By mistake or by choice?”

“Okay, choice, I guess. It’s complicated, but I think mainly it starts in college. In legal circles, even more so in high-power politics, there’s this huge social divide between men who pledge the ‘right’ fraternities and those who don’t.”

“You didn’t, I presume?”

“You kidding? I’m a pariah. I was Phi Beta Kappa—since that’s an honors fraternity, it made me too much of a pointy-headed intellectual type.”

No, just too ethical, she thought. Despite all the
crimes she had seen—even helped—him commit, there was an almost boyish integrity to him.

“So you locked horns with the old-boy network, huh?” she asked. “It exists in real estate, too. I’m just lucky Hazel is the big chief in Mystery, she—oh my God, Quinn!”

She already had her right foot covering the brake. She practically stood on it now, halting their forward progress.

Quinn, too saw it clearly in the pale white moonlight. They had just emerged from the thickly wooded lower slope overlooking the snow-blanketed berm of East County Line Road.

Parked on the shoulder, waiting patiently like a cat beside a mouse hole, was a silver Ford SUV.

“They must have spotted us leave the hay barn,” she almost wailed. “They somehow figured it out. What do we—”

“Calm down and keep it together. I don’t think they’ve spotted or heard us yet,” Quinn said, cutting her off.

His voice stayed calm, but urgent, thus helping her not to panic. “It’s too cold, so they’re staying in the vehicle with the engine and heater running. Back up, Connie, nice and easy. Go back into the trees.”

She shifted the transmission into reverse. But as luck would have it, her nervously trembling left leg made her foot slip off the clutch. The Jeep bucked once, stalled. Caught in a momentary fluster, she made the mistake of depressing the clutch while she restarted the motor.

They rolled forward again, and this time their luck ran out. Perhaps moonlight reflected off the windshield—at any rate, she heard a muffled shout from
below, then two shadowy forms tumbled out of the SUV.

“Back, Connie!” Quinn ordered, his tense voice finally showing the pressure. “I mean haul ass in reverse!”

This time she responded expertly. The Jeep chewed up the trail as it flitted back into the trees, safe for the moment.

Almost immediately, however, she realized they were trapped. The snow-powdered trail was too steep to climb, and already they were scraping forward again as the spinning wheels lost the battle with gravity. In moments they would be exposed again.

“You drive just fine,” Quinn told her as he suddenly took over, stretching across her to depress the parking brake and halt their forward slide. “But let me face the bullets. It’s my turn to drive. Get in back.”

“What do you think you—?”

He ignored her protests and released her shoulder harness, practically stuffing her into the back seat.

“Stay down, way down!” he ordered as he swung into the driver’s bucket and started revving the engine. She saw him cram the gearshift into first gear.

“Quinn! What are you doing?”

“Hey, why lock the stable door after the horse has been stolen? Hell, they’ve seen us—now let’s show these bad boys we can get in
their
faces, too. Stay down, Connie!”

Whatever the men below were expecting, it wasn’t Quinn’s next move. He turned on the headlights, flicked them to high beams, then floored the accelerator as he sidestepped the clutch.

Constance felt herself thrown powerfully back
ward. Then she was being tossed about violently as Quinn deliberately swerved wildly to right and left.

She heard an abrupt hammering of gunfire, several bullets thonking into the Jeep. Despite the danger, and her bone-numbing fear, she peeked up high enough to see that Quinn had aimed the Jeep directly at the two men.

At the very last moment, both men leaped aside. One of the gunmen loosed a bray of rage or pain, she wasn’t sure which.

But Quinn wasn’t done just yet. Out in the roadway now, he deliberately backed up fast against the left side of the SUV. It was at a precarious angle on the shoulder—one good hit toppled it onto its side.

He shifted again and tore off toward the east as more gunfire erupted behind them. Again Quinn drove in a reckless swerving pattern to minimize the target. She had all she could do to keep from tumbling around like clothes in a dryer.

When she realized they were safe, at least for the time being, she swallowed to find her voice again. Shaking, she climbed up into the passenger’s seat beside him, looking anxiously over her shoulder.

“Were you a Hollywood stunt man before law school?”

He flashed her a nervy grin. “No, but my summer job in college was driving a hack in New York City. What I just did back there—in the Big Apple, that’s called parallel parking.”

She laughed, more amused by his
sang froid
than his joke. Whatever inner demons were shaking his confidence, this man had no lack of physical courage.

“I sure do apologize for the damage to the Jeep,
though,” he added. “If the government doesn’t pay for the repairs, I will.”

“Right now,” she confessed, still trembling from their close call, “I couldn’t care less about that.”

“Good. Because I can tell you for a fact it will be entered into evidence. Those bullet holes will help establish my case that flight was my only alternative.”

My God, we’re still swimming the moat, and he’s already talking like a lawyer, she thought.

Then she noticed it, just left of the rearview mirror: a neat hole in the windshield, with spider lines radiating out from it.

She looked at Quinn in the dim light, then took off her glove and touched his right cheek. Her finger came away wet with blood.

“An angel kissed me, that’s all,” he joked lightly before she could react. “It burns a little, but the bullet only grazed me. Luck of the Irish, I guess. Hey, relax.”

Relax. She very nearly passed out, dizzy and faint as she realized that death had literally brushed by them. In a way, it really was an angel’s kiss. But what if she had been driving in his place…. Death, too, was an angel.

Quinn had told her the truth, and this attempt at cold-blooded murder only lent more credence to his story. The last vestige of any doubt about his innocence vanished from her mind.

“We better wise up and take a new route pretty quick,” he told her, his eyes cutting often to the rearview mirror. “I don’t know how many goons they’ve sicced on us, but they might call ahead. Tell me when to turn.”

“I guess State Route 23,” she decided. “A lot of trucks use it even though it’s not the most direct route.”

“Good. Just tell me when to turn.”

“I don’t believe this,” she said, still light-headed from fear and adrenaline. “They shot at us!”

“Second time they’ve tried for me. No, leave that on,” he said when she started to slide the Kevlar vest off. “No telling when our trigger-happy friends might drop in again.”

Mile after mile rolled past in monotonous safety. Quinn drove now, and Constance welcomed every blessed moment of the monotony.

State Highway 23 was passable, but blowing snow reduced visibility. The steady sweep-and-thump of the wipers was pleasantly hypnotic. Despite the danger they faced, she could not quell the images and sensations she experienced when Quinn’s naked flesh had melded with hers.

Sleep remained out of the question. But gradually her tense muscles relaxed again, and she stopped holding her breath every time lights approached the rearview mirror. Twice she turned on the radio to catch state news. But the Quinn Loudon story wasn’t even mentioned.

With plenty of heat flowing through the Jeep, she had already removed her sherpa jacket and put it in the back seat. Quinn saw her fussing with the Kevlar vest.

“Know what? Now that we’re in traffic, you should put that on under your sweater, not over it. We might be seen by one of the drivers next to us. The vest is
pretty distinctive. Might call unnecessary attention to us.”

“But it’s huge on me.”

“Won’t matter if you’re not moving a lot. If somebody spots you wearing it, it doesn’t exactly enhance our status as an innocent, all-American couple.”

“What, put it on under my sweater right now?”

“Why not. It’s dark. No traffic is close right now.”

“You’re close.”

“That’s a problem?”

His tone was teasing and daring all at once—and she wondered if it wasn’t just her safety that had inspired his suggestion.

“No problem at all,” she retorted, her tone matching his.

She slid the vest over her head and put it on the floor. Then she grabbed the bottom of her cableknit sweater and tugged the garment off.

He glanced at her with wanting in his eyes before looking back at the road.

Heat stirred inside her, flaring up quick like a match.

“We
can’t
stop for a room,” he said, echoing her own thoughts. “The clock is ticking. We’ve got to make Billings.”

“Yes,” she chimed in, matching the resolve in his voice. “Billings. A room would be out of the question.”

She slid the vest on, then her sweater. The Jeep entered a long curve where the highway circumvented a big shoulder of granite. Not until they cleared the shoulder, when it was too late to stop without being seen, did they spot the flashing blue lights of the Montana State Troopers.

“Ride it till it crashes,” Quinn muttered.

Constance froze for a few moments, forgetting to breathe.

“Hey, it’s not a roadblock,” Quinn pointed out as he downshifted and tapped the brakes, slowing down. “Steady, lady, and we’ll bluff it.”

Sparking flares showed where the left lane had been blocked off ahead. But in the darkness and blowing snow, she couldn’t see around the next curve.

“Oh, my God,” she muttered. “That bullet hole in the windshield! What if he sees it?”

“Too late now, here he comes. Give him a nice, law-abiding smile, Connie. Come on—that’s it, charm the authority out of him.”

Quinn rolled down his window, and she felt cold air lick at her. A state trooper built like a granite block stepped closer and thumbed his Smoky Bear hat back.

“Got a jackknifed 18-wheeler up just ahead, folks,” he called out, eyes squinted almost shut against the blowing sleet and snow. “Slow way down and go around it in the break-down lane.”

“Thanks, officer, we sure will.”

Quinn started to roll the window back up. But suddenly the cop turned back toward them, approaching Quinn’s window again. Constance felt her heart turn over.

“Gonna be a long delay up ahead at Thompson’s Canyon Pass until daylight,” he warned them in a friendly voice. “I’d get off the highway for the night. Just a tip.”

“Another accident?”