Walking After Midnight (8 page)

„Ooo, I’m quaking in my flip-flops.“

„You should be. My father-in-law’s the police chief here in town.“

„What?“
He appeared to think that over, then shook his head. „Yeah, sure. God, you do think fast, don’t you? What are you, a pathological liar?“

„I’m telling the truth, damn it. Again.“

„Right. I bet you don’t even know the police chief’s name.“

„Rosencrans. Samuel T. Rosencrans.“ Her answer was triumphant.

A pause. „You could’ve read that anywhere.“

„I could’ve. But I didn’t. He’s got a disgusting-looking mole under his left ear, and he smokes cigars. And the
T.
stands for
Tyneman“

Another pause. „Old Rosey’s only got one son. Last I heard he was married to a twenty-five-old, drop-dead-gorgeous underwear model from New York.“

„Lingerie
model. Your information’s out-of-date. But that’s me.“

Frankenstein eyed her up and down. „Yeah, and I’m Marky Mark.“

Summer felt her temper heat. „So a few years have passed, and I’ve gained some weight. So what? It’s still me.“

„I thought you said you were a janitor.“ 1 am.

„A janitor who models lawn-jer-ee?“ A jeer underlay the deliberately drawn-out mispronunciation.

„I used to model lingerie. Now I own a janitorial service.“ Summer spoke through her teeth.

„Yeah. Sure. I can see why you made the switch. Anyone would rather scrub toilets for a living than prance around in front of a camera in a bra and panties. I know
I
would.“

Summer gave him a killing look. „Oh, shut up. And let go of my leg.“

„Rosencrans or not, you’re still under arrest.“

„Fine. I’m under arrest. Now would you let go of my leg?“

„Getting to you, am I?“ he said with smirk in his voice, rubbing his index finger suggestively along her shin. „I have that effect on babes.“

„You’re making me sick.“

„I have that effect on babes, too.“ This time there was no mistaking the distorted grin, brief though it was. His finger stilled.

„I bet.“ She said it with relish.

„I warn you: Run, and I’ll tackle you. I used to be a linebacker in high school, and rough is the only way I know how to play.“ He released her ankle and got to his feet. He wasn’t all that tall, as she’d noted before, but he was definitely built like a football player. Or maybe the too-tight T-shirt just made his shoulders and arms and chest
look
formidable. Whatever. She had no doubts at all that he would tackle her if she ran, and it would hurt, so she stayed put.

„What high school?“ Her question was truculent.

„Trinity.“ He named a Catholic high school in nearby Nashville that was famous for its football team.

„Oh, yeah? What’s your name?“ She’d known a number of kids who’d gone to Trinity. Guys, mostly. Nashville had been the place to hang out when she’d been a teen. Bright lights, big city, and only forty or so miles down the road.

„Steve.“

„Steve what?“

„Calhoun.“ He sounded wary, and it was that very wariness that tipped her off.
Steve Calhoun.
He was more famous in the Tennessee mountains than Davy Crockett. Or maybe the correct word was
infamous.

She must have been looking at him kind of funny, because he said flatly, „I see you’ve heard of me.“

7

„Who hasn’t?“ Summer saw no reason to spare his feelings. Steve Calhoun was indeed a cop. A detective, to be precise, with the Tennessee State Police. Or at least he had been. She wasn’t sure of his current status, because the newspapers had long since abandoned him as old news.

In any event, about three years before, he had been one point of the most notorious love triangle ever to explode over central Tennessee. His romance-gone-wrong had burst into public view when the woman with whom he’d been having an affair – a fellow detective’s wife, no less – had hanged herself in his office. In police headquarters, in downtown Nashville. The fact that the dead woman had been an aspiring country singer on the verge of making it big added to the drama. So did the fact that the woman had left behind not a suicide note, but a videotape. The footage included sensational shots of herself and Steve Calhoun, her husband’s lifelong best friend as well as fellow detective, in the throes of some very steamy sex. On a desktop, in the selfsame office in which she’d taken her life. According to the tape, she had killed herself when he’d broken off their adulterous affair.

TV had loved it. The papers had loved it. The story had even found its way into the
National Enquirer.

Steve Calhoun had gotten his proverbial fifteen minutes of fame with a vengeance.

„Yeah, well, don’t believe everything you hear. About half the stuff that was flying around then wasn’t true.“

„You mean half was?“ Summer couldn’t help it. The question just popped out.

The look he shot her was withering. „Don’t be a wiseass, Rosencrans. I don’t like wiseasses.“

„Ooo, you’re scaring me.“

„Good. I like you better scared. At least you keep your mouth shut.“

„And my name’s not Rosencrans. It’s McAfee. Summer McAfee. Lem Rosencrans and I are divorced.“

„Smart guy.“

„If I remember my scandals correctly, you got fired after – all that came out. So you’re not a cop. Not even kind of. Not anymore. And certainly not in Murfreesboro. Which translates to, I’m out of here.“

„Go on, Rosencrans. Try to leave. Make my day.“

She looked at him. He looked back. Dirty Harry couldn’t have topped that look – and Dirty Harry had had the use of both eyes. Folding her arms over her breasts, Summer made a huffing sound, leaned a shoulder against the van – and stayed.

„Glad to know you’re not as dumb as you look.“

Summer chose to ignore that. „So what were you doing on an embalming table in a funeral home in the middle of the night, anyway?“

„Haven’t you ever heard of Harmon Brothers’ early-bird special? Come in before you’re dead, and they give you half off all their services.“

„Ha-ha.“

„I like a woman who laughs at my jokes.“

Summer shot him a killing glance. It appeared to leave him unfazed.

„I’m serious. How did you get there? Were you in an accident, or what?“

„An accident. Right.“ He snorted. „Your friends beat the bejesus out of me, doused me with kerosene, and were firing up the crematorium in my honor when you decided to check my pulse. Good thing my head’s harder than they thought, or by now my ass would’ve been french-fried.“

„I keep telling you, they’re not my friends. I don’t have the faintest idea who they are.“ The unusual volume of the funeral home’s air-conditioning was suddenly explained. The increasing roar hadn’t been her imagination at all, but the crematorium being fired up. Summer recalled that it was located right next to the embalming room and shivered inwardly.

„You know, I almost believe you.“

„Glad to know you’re not as dumb as you look.“ This comeback earned her an acknowledging glint. „So who are
they}
The men who did this?“

„You tell me.“

Summer drew in a deep breath. „Forget it. Just forget it. I don’t care. If they’re trying to kill
you,
they’re probably the good guys. Anyway, they’ve got my vote. And now I’m going home.“

She pushed away from the van in anticipation of doing just that – a walk of sixteen or so miles with only one shoe was nothing compared to the aggravation of remaining in his presence for another second, and the way she felt at that moment if he tackled her, he’d get his daylights punched out – only to have him rise to his full height and block her way.

„Rosencrans. Uh-uh.“

„Go screw yourself, Frankenstein.“ She tried to dodge past him, only to be stopped by his hand on her arm.

„Frankenstein?“ He – almost – sounded like he was on the verge of laughing.

„It’s what you look like. And let go of my arm.“

„Not – “ He broke off, arrested. Summer heard it too: the thick, beaten-air sound of helicopter blades.

„A chopper.“ His voice was hard suddenly. The hand that gripped her arm tightened until it hurt. „Get in the van! Go!“

Summer had no choice. Before she could move, he grabbed her by the waist, lifted her off her feet, and practically threw her through the van’s open door.

„Jesus, what do you weigh?“ he panted, swarming in after her and using a hand on her rump to shove her off the passenger seat, where she had landed on all fours.

„Are you always this obnoxious, or are you making a special effort just for me?“ Summer hit the floor between the seats with a force that sent a stab of pain through her right knee. Her left knee was spared simply because it didn’t quite touch the ground. There wasn’t room.

„Get down!“

The door slammed shut. He was on top of her, squashing her into the narrow space between the seats, covering her body with his. Summer lay half on her side, in miserable discomfort, suffocating from the smell of him, the heat of his body, his weight.

„You’re not exactly a featherweight yourself, you know,“ she growled, trying to extricate herself and ending up flat on her back.

„Pure muscle. And everybody knows that muscle weighs more than fat.“

„Yeah, right.“

This time Summer was sure of his grin as the interior of the van was suddenly flooded with bright light. What on earth…? A searchlight. Of course, the helicopter was equipped with a searchlight. Was it a
police
helicopter, then? Had someone heard the gunfire and dialed 911? If so, they were saved! All they had to do was jump out and flag it down! From the sound of it, it was almost directly overhead.

„It could be the police!“ Summer wriggled and squirmed, trying to work free without success. Though he stayed atop with the tenacity of a barnacle, she did manage to inch backward till she reached the center of the van, where she lay panting on her back in the narrow space left between two stacks of cargo piled chest-high against either wall. Her flailing arms dislodged a furniture blanket, which slid over them with the suddenness of a dropped curtain. Instantly they were cocooned in suffocating darkness.

„Could be.“ His breath surged warm and moist against her neck as she clawed the musty-smelling blanket away from her face. Drawing in a lungful of fresh air, she shoved at his shoulder. He didn’t budge. His chest crushed her breasts and his legs were heavy as logs against hers. He was as hard, and heavy, as a piece of furniture.

„Let me up! We need to make sure – and flag it down, if it’s the police!“ Her struggle to get loose only tangled the blanket more closely around them. Only her head and her arms were free. She tugged vainly at the heavy gray folds.

„I don’t think you quite get the picture, Rosencrans. We – “

The implosion of the windshield interrupted him. Pebbles of glass ricocheted through the van like BBs outfitted with turbochargers. Summer cringed as they
pinged
and ratded all around her. One stung her neck and she flinched, crying out.

Frankenstein cursed, wrapping his body more closely about hers, pulling the blanket over their heads. Suddenly she was extremely glad of his solid bulk atop her and the protection of the blanket.

The passenger window shattered as what sounded like a hailstorm pounded the sides and roof of the van. Whoever was in the helicopter was shooting at them. Definitely not the police.

„Who are those guys?“ she moaned as kaleidoscopic visions of the cut-down-by-a-barrage-of-gunfire end of
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
danced in her brain.

To which he replied, „You tell me.“

Under any other circumstances, she would have hit him. But it occurred to her with terrifying clarity that just at that moment he was all that stood – or lay, to be precise – between her and a bullet. Lots of bullets.

She didn’t hit him. Instead she made herself into as small a package as possible, and lay very, very still. He curled protectively above her, shielding as much of her body as he could.

As suddenly as it had begun, the hailstorm ceased. After a moment, cautiously, Frankenstein stuck his head out of the blanket. To Summer’s relief, the light had vanished. The night was as dark and quiet as death.

Summer shivered at the comparison.

„You okay?“ He was breathing heavily.

„Y-yeah.“ Except for the fact that her teeth chattered.

„We’ve got to get out of here,“ he said, dragging himself off her and throwing the blanket aside. He hauled her up with him by hooking a hand in the waistband of her slacks just above her belly button and lifting.

„Let go!“ She batted his hand away even as he thrust her into the driver’s seat. Glass was everywhere. She was sitting on a small mountain of it, and as she realized that she popped up again, mentally thanking God for the new tempered windshields. If they had been in an older vehicle, they would have been cut to smithereens by flying shards. With a series of quick swipes, she brushed most of the glass off her seat.