Breaking the Rules (8 page)

“Zeke—”

“There’s a redheaded man down at the café looking for a woman with very long hair and scarred hands. Anybody you know?”

An abrupt and overwhelming fear stole the breath from Mattie’s lungs. She stared at Zeke in horror. “At the café?”

“And coming this way fast.” He grabbed her arms, spun her around. “Grab your purse and let’s get you out of here.”

Mattie didn’t question the order. She grabbed the tote and her purse from the bed and dashed out, leaving the door open in her haste to be away. Zeke had already started the bike. Mattie got on behind him and he handed her a helmet. “We’ll sort everything out later. Just put this on and hang on tight.”

“Go,” she urged, tugging on the helmet.

He was already moving.

Mattie had never been on a motorcycle in her life. Instinctively, she pressed close to Zeke and followed the light lean of his body as they banked into a turn. His hair whipped her face.

The motel parking lot was gravel, on a down slope. Speed was impossible. As he turned into the driveway that led to the highway, Mattie heard him swear.

“What?”

“Hold on tight and keep your head down. This is about to get ugly.”

Over his shoulder, Mattie caught a glimpse of a sky blue El Camino before the bike surged forward. Her heart thundered as they roared past the vehicle. Brian, plain as day, sat behind the wheel, his face murderous as they passed him.

Then the bike was rocketing down the highway. To keep from flying off, Mattie grabbed hard to Zeke’s waist. Waves of cold sweat flashed over her at the feeling of speed whipping against them. The trees and hillsides were a blur of color. The wind made a high noise. Tiny stings struck her bare arms—maybe rocks or little bugs.

And she held on with all her might.

A strange volley of noise pricked her attention. A ping and a deeper thud—

“Keep your head down,” Zeke yelled.

At the side of the road a chunk of pavement went flying.

Bullets.

“Oh, God!” She buried her face against Zeke’s back, closing her eyes. A shudder rushed down her exposed spine and she thought of Zeke’s bare head.

The bike seemed to suddenly leap from the road, and for one terrified moment, Mattie had no idea what was happening. She thought wildly that Zeke had been shot and they were flying off the road, out of control.

Then she realized he’d veered off the highway to a slim path in the woods. The jolt of the rough road yanked her head up—and she was promptly slapped by a pine branch. The stinging blow caught her across the nose and right cheek and brought tears to her eyes.

“Keep your head down!”

Mattie ducked into his back.

The bike jumped and skidded and gave off deep, annoyed growlings. Against her arms and chest, Mattie felt Zeke’s powerful body fighting to control the machine. He flung out, a leg on one side, then the other; she felt him duck and heard the scrape of a thick branch on her helmet. The muscles of his torso flexed and contracted. Between her legs, she felt the tension of his hips.

Slowly, she grew aware that there were no noises behind them, that the only sound
anywhere
was the bike as it leaped and jumped. Cautiously, she looked behind them.

They were on a narrow path overhung with long-armed pines, riding along the edge of a small, clear stream. Zeke edged along, no longer fighting to out-pace a car.

“This’ll take us to another road a little ways up,” he said over his shoulder. “You all right?”

“Yes.”

And she had been until that moment. Suddenly, it all sunk in with a strangely twisted, surrealistic quality. She—Mattie O’Neal, until lately a simple secretary in the English department of a small Midwestern university—was now riding through primeval forest land with some wild stranger, running away from two desperate men who had shot at her. Impossible.

But she was. The lurking memories of the night that had sent her running in the first place now flooded back, triggered by the sound of gunfire and the terror she’d felt both times. A thick trembling rocked her body, uncontrollable.

Zeke stopped the bike and got off, gathering her into a sturdy embrace. “You’ll be all right, honey.” He rubbed her arms, her back, firmly. “Take a few deep breaths and get a drink from the stream. I don’t want to hang around long.”

She nodded and he let her go, taking a canteen from a hook under the seat. He knelt at the edge of the stream to fill it and Mattie stared at him, still uncomprehending. “How—”

“Come on, Miss Mary,” he said. “Don’t fall apart on me now.”

She gave herself a mental shake, shoving away the gruesome memories and the terror. Kneeling by the stream, she splashed her face and took a long, calming drink. “I’m ready.”

He gave her a nod and fired up the bike.

* * *

It never occurred to Mattie to ask where they were going. Away. That was what mattered. They were going away from Brian.

Shock cocooned Mattie. The stark, harshly beautiful landscape of the northern Arizona plateau and the constant sound of the bike’s engine numbed her. She gave herself up to the hypnotic sound of the wind, the gritty feel of it on her skin. Vaguely, she was aware of the heat of the sun on her arms, of Zeke in front of her, piloting her escape, of the curious faces of children as they passed.

In the early afternoon, they stopped at a roadside café in the mountains of New Mexico. Mattie stared at the menu without comprehension. Apparently sensing her confusion, he ordered burritos and coffee for both of them. Mattie ate hers dutifully. She couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t lead back to the horrifying image of bullets flying around them, so she didn’t talk. Zeke didn’t seem to mind. They got back on the road quickly.

At sunset, they pulled into a small mountain town in Colorado. Pagosa Springs, the sign said.

The air cooled sharply, and the sudden drop in temperature roused Mattie from her stupor. Zeke drove slowly through the small town, and roused, Mattie looked around curiously. Children played hide-and-seek in some bushes. Through screen doors, supper light fell to porches, welcoming and soft. A dog ran behind a boy on a bike.

Zeke pulled into a hamburger stand, not a chain, but a mom-and-pop joint with broad windows all around. Old-fashioned. On the door, a fading sign in the colors of the old drive-in movie snack announcements advertised double-chocolate malts and curly fries. Two teenagers occupied a booth by the window, and a young mother with three little children had another. As Mattie watched, a burly man in a sheriff’s uniform paused beside the woman’s table to chat.

Zeke swore mildly. “I was going to suggest we go in and eat, but maybe it would be better if you stay out of sight.”

“Why?”

He gracefully slid from the bike and yanked the helmet from his head. Hair fell down around his shoulders, mussed and yet gloriously sexy. A fist hit her belly at the pure animal beauty of him. “It’s a long story, but if I recognized you, someone else who’s a little bit faster on the uptake might recognize you, too. Just sit tight. I’ll get us something to eat.”

In his voice was the same careful tone he’d used with her all day. This time, Mattie found it annoying. “I’m not going to break, Zeke.”

His grin was swift and dazzling. Mattie blinked.

“I knew you’d snap out of it,” he said. Setting the helmet on the seat in front of her, he asked, “They make great hamburgers here. You want one?”

“Sure. With cheese.” She pursed her lips and pointed toward the faded sign on the door. “And one of those super-duper chocolate malts, too.”

He continued grinning at her as if she’d done something extraordinary. “No problem. I’ll be right back. Keep your helmet on.”

She watched him, moving with loose-limbed grace on long legs, and thought of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Strider. It would be a good nickname for him.

The thought made her grin. Strider had been quite a hero, after all. She doubted Zeke thought he’d done anything heroic today, but he had.

He’d saved her life.

C
arrying bags of food into a little motel on top of a hill, Mattie and Zeke sprawled on the two double beds in the room. “Your malt,
madame
,” Zeke said. “Your cheeseburger. Fries.” He reached deeper into the bag. “Ketchup, pickles, salt.”

Mattie grinned. “What a guy. But that would be
mademoiselle
, not
madame
.”

“Give it back, then.”

“You’d have to kill me first,” she said. “I’m about to starve.” She bit into the thick, greasy burger. Heaven.

“Me, too. Riding in the open air will definitely give you an appetite.”

Her head, after wearing the helmet all day, felt extraordinarily light. “My head feels like it did after I cut my hair.”

Zeke looked up, raising an eyebrow. “That was why I couldn’t figure out who you were—your hair. On TV, they showed a picture of you with it long. Real long.”

“TV?”

“Yep. You were a featured story on that mysteries program a week or two ago.” He dipped fries in ketchup, lovingly. “That’s what was driving me so crazy. I
knew
I’d seen your face and that it was important. It was on television.”

Her heart squeezed. “You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was. That’s why you have to keep yourself scarce. The police in Kansas City have a reward out for any information leading to the arrest and conviction of some guy in Kansas City. You’re wanted for questioning in connection with the murder of three men in a trucking warehouse.”

Mattie felt faint. The reward was no doubt for Brian. “I wonder how they knew to look for me.” An image of the night that had sent her running tried to surface, but Mattie wasn’t ready for it yet. “How much is the reward?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars.” Zeke squeezed another ketchup packet onto the hamburger wrapper he was using as a plate. “He’s a big-time bad boy.”

Mattie closed her eyes. “He’ll kill me if I go back there.”

“Who is he, Mattie?” Zeke waited, hamburger in hand, for her answer. “He described your hair, too.”

“It was the only thing that stood out about me.” A tinge of bitterness ached in her. Now Brian would know her hair was gone. Cutting it had all been for nothing. Putting her hamburger aside, she wiped her fingers on a paper napkin and opened her heavy leather purse. At the bottom, coiled like a silky snake, was her braid. She pulled it out.

It unfurled from her hand to swing between them, a golden brown rope nearly three feet long. “It might be kind of sick to keep it,” she said, “but I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.”

Without speaking, Zeke touched it with one long finger. An odd expression crossed his face. He looked up. “You must have been really scared, to cut off that much hair.”

“I was. I am.” She coiled the braid around her wrist, remembering the feel of it swishing over her back, brushing her hips. Cloaking her. “But I didn’t have a choice.”

“You’re a brave little mouse, Miss Mary,” he said, and there was a rumbling, almost painfully seductive note to his voice. “You seem so vulnerable, but you’ve done what you had to do. I don’t believe I’ve ever met a woman quite like you.”

She touched the quivering leap in her belly, but couldn’t tear her gaze from the green waters of his eyes. Something flickered there, warm and approving. She felt herself flush and hurriedly lowered her head. “Not too many women carry around a braid, that’s for sure.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

“I know.” She picked up her hamburger. “Who was with him this morning?”

“I guess the redhead is the one you’re running from?”

“Brian Murphy. And I’d guess it was Vincent Paglio with him. A dark man with a pockmarked face?”

“That’s the one.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who are they?”

“What did they say on TV?” she countered, unwilling to say more than she had to.

“I don’t remember,” he said with a hard edge.

Mattie glanced up in surprise. His mouth was set in sharp lines, and his eyes had gone very, very cold. Suddenly, she wondered if she’d gone from the frying pan into the fire. “I didn’t ask for your help,” she said, wounded by his icy expression.

“That’s true,” he said. “I guess you’d rather be a Jane Doe at the county coroner’s office right now, huh?”

The terror of that bullet-riddled ride down the highway flooded back. “No,” she said. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Well, then, why don’t we get this story out of the way? No tricks, honey. I’ve been burned before and I wouldn’t take kindly to having it happen again.”

Carefully, she set aside her food and tucked her feet under her legs. She took a deep breath and opened the locked box in her mind. “Brian Murphy was my fiancé,” she said at last. “He used me as an alibi so he could kill three men. Or rather, he tried to use me as an alibi.”

Zeke waited.

Mattie went on, her words emotionless as she tried to keep her memories from overwhelming her. “He’d taken me out to dinner and we stopped at a party afterward. Something happened there, something that made him really angry. He made a couple of phone calls—one of them to Vince.”

She closed her eyes. “I should have stayed at the party.”

Silently, Zeke handed her the milk shake. She took a sip and gave him a brief history of the trucking firm and Brian’s successful bid to bring it back from the brink of ruin. “I know now that he was transporting something illegal—but I didn’t know that then.”

“Drugs and guns,” Zeke said. “The guns are the big problem. The police found a truckload of AK47s in the warehouse.”

Guns. Mattie thought of the strife tearing cities—including Kansas City—to pieces. “He used to talk about the gun problem like he really cared,” she said, and felt betrayed and stupid all over again.

“Makes a nice smoke screen, right?”

Mattie nodded cynically. “Anyway, that night he drove us over to the warehouse, said he just needed to check something and we’d go to my house. We went in and he made a couple more phone calls. I could tell he was just furious about some kind of shipment that had been waylaid.”

She had begun to feel uneasy by then. The warehouse was dark and shadowy and felt somehow threatening. Dressed in a taffeta gown and high heels, Mattie didn’t want to sit down anywhere, so she paced the small office as Brian made his phone calls.