The Lawman Meets His Bride

“So your rights are more important than mine, is that it? Why should I be victimized because you supposedly were?”

“Curiosity killed the cat, that’s why. All you had to do was keep your mouth shut when you saw that blood on the floor. The unlocked shutter didn’t give me away—the blood did. Once I knew you’d seen it, I also knew you’d report me.”

“I see. I’m being punished for showing a little concern.”

“I don’t want to punish you.” The truth of his words stabbed him and forced him to grow silent. With difficulty, he added, “But things are the way they are, that’s all. Now just shut up and drive.”

“Please let me stop at Oxbow,” she repeated, her voice pleading. “I know you don’t want to become a common criminal.”

“Look,” he answered harshly, his patience worn by the pain of his leg, and the pain in his soul, “I’ll keep it to a simple command—shut your damned mouth and drive.”

He noticed she had been checking her watch every few minutes. She did so again now.

“Got a hot date?” he asked her.

“What if I did? Doesn’t really matter, does it? My time is yours now—gun man,” she added pointedly.

Her words cut far deeper than she realized.

He sank farther down into the seat and morosely surveyed the situation. Ms. Constance Adams would never know how hard it all sat with him. He’d spent his childhood in a series of foster homes after his real parents—both of them drug addicts—had gone to prison for holding up a liquor store to support their habit.

His last foster home had been the best—police Lieutenant Jim Westphal and his wife Ceil had loved him like their own son. From Jim, Quinn had caught the crime-fighting bug. He geared his whole life toward a career in law enforcement. He wanted, more than anything else, to be one of the good guys in the war on crime. As if only that could erase all the pain and humiliation his real parents had caused him.

And now, as if there were some kind of dark, blood destiny coursing through his veins, he, too, was officially a criminal. Certainly he would never hurt this woman whom he held against her will; violence, at least, was not in him. She had no idea that his gun was empty and he had no more bullets for it. Somehow it had been easier to bluff with an empty weapon—he could never have pointed a loaded gun at her.

But the thought was little consolation. With every mile they drove, he sank deeper and deeper into anguish. It just didn’t seem possible that fate could be so cruel—could in fact force him into the very role he’d fought his entire life to avoid.

Again he noticed her nervously check her watch. He opened his mouth to ask her about it again. But before he could speak, a telephone chirred, the sound muffled by her purse.

Someone was calling for her.

Chapter 4

The phone rang a second time, a third. With every ring, Constance could feel her body stiffen. The ache to grab it and scream for help was smothered by the fear of the gun in Loudon’s pocket. Every ring was torture.

It was Beth Ann, or someone else in her family, checking up on her as she’d requested. By now they would have already called her house, too. Obviously, Constance told herself, the only option was not to answer. That alone would set her family in motion trying to find her.

But she underestimated her captor’s shrewdness. He evidently didn’t trust her complacency.

“Answer it,” he ordered her.

At the same time he grabbed the steering wheel with one hand.

He spoke quickly. “I know you figure by now that I won’t shoot you. You’re right about that. But I swear by all things holy—you send even one hint to that caller, and I’ll dump both of us into that ditch just like that.”

Steep runoff ditches ran along both sides of the road, and the Jeep was moving at fifty-five miles per hour. She knew he could well be bluffing. But he jerked the wheel to warn her, and her heart missed a beat when they nearly swerved into the ditch.

“Answer it,” he ordered tersely as the phone continued to burr. “And no tricks.”

She fished the cell phone out of her purse. Loudon leaned his head close to hers, listening in.

“Hello?”

“God, ’bout time you answered, pokey,” Beth Ann’s voice complained. “What took you so long?”

When Constance hesitated, Loudon again jerked the wheel. The Jeep’s tires spewed gravel when they brushed the narrow shoulder. She felt her throat tighten with fear.

“I was passing two logging trucks,” she ad-libbed. “I had to wait until I got around them.”

“Oh. How’d it go? Did the guy buy the old Hupenbecker place?”

“He’s still debating, I guess.”

“Sure took you long enough. Is he cute?”

The Jeep hit a slight dip, and Loudon’s cheek brushed hers. She felt the rough masculine feel of his beard shadow. She forced herself to keep her tone light.

“Boys are cute, little sis. Men are handsome.”

“Well, is he handsome?”

“Can’t say,” Constance replied reluctantly but truthfully.

“Woo-woo! Are you still there with him?”

Constance took a sideways glance at Loudon. He shook his head and mouthed the word, no.

“No,” Connie whispered.

“Can’t hear you! We must have a bad connection.” Fuzz backed up Beth Ann’s assessment. “Well, at least the guy wasn’t an ax murderer. I gotta go now. I’m baby-sitting for the Campbells. Later, skater.”

Constance felt her heart sink as she put the phone away. If anything did happen to her, it was Friday and no one would be likely to seriously worry about her absence until Monday when her business associate, Ginny Lavoy, would miss her.

Another hazard, she thought bitterly, of having no love life. There was no one to miss you right away.

“‘Can’t say,’” Loudon repeated, a trace of whimsy mixed with his exhausted tone. “That’s a left-handed compliment if I ever heard one.”

“I didn’t mean to give you even a left-handed one,” she said, dead hope in her voice.

Loudon smirked and checked his watch. “Bad news travels fast,” he told her, turning on the radio to catch the top-of-the-hour news broadcast out of Helena.

The national news came first, the usual litany of political squabbling and natural-disaster news caused by abnormally warm ocean currents. Then the announcer turned to state news.

“The sound of gunfire erupted today at the Federal Court Building in Kalispell. Quinn Loudon, Assistant U.S. Attorney, literally blasted his way to freedom when U.S. Marshals attempted to place him under arrest. Loudon had appeared for pretrial proceedings stemming from charges of bribery and racketeering.

“According to witnesses, during the exchange of fire Loudon was wounded in one leg. He successfully eluded officials and escaped from Kalispell. A massive manhunt is presently underway, according to federal prosecutor Dolph Merriday.

“‘Quinn Loudon has lived a life of deceit,’” Merriday told reporters during a press conference only hours ago, ‘so today’s actions are no real surprise.’ According to Merriday, even Loudon’s superiors at the Justice Department did not realize Loudon’s parents were both career criminals who served long prison sentences.