More Than Great Riches (16 page)

She tilted her head back to look up at him. But what if he gets away? Those gorgeous eyes
pleaded with him to take action.

He couldn’t help himself. The only way to stop her questions was to lower his head and
seal her mouth with a kiss. He didn’t lift his head again until two sheriff’s patrol cars
swept into the parking lot.

Leif recognized the four deputies who arrived on the scene. He had worked with them
before. Quickly he laid out the situation for Sgt. McNeill, the officer in charge, and
they organized their plan of attack.

Tracy, come with me, he called. There was no way he would leave her alone in the darkened
parking lot at the ice cream stand. Timmons could be somewhere along the road right now
searching for her.

She jumped in beside him as the sheriff’s cars began to move out onto the road. You’re
going to have to stay in the SUV, he warned as they followed the patrol cars out of the
parking lot. If you hear shots, get down on the floor and stay there.

For once Tracy didn’t give him an argument.

Describe Timmons for me.

He’s tall, over six feet, black hair in a brush cut, a close-trimmed dark beard and
mustache, horn-rimmed glasses, she reported. He was wearing a dark business suit. I think
he might be using the name Johnson.

He smiled. Tracy was observant. She sounded like a trained investigator. She leaned
forward in her seat, peering through the windshield as though that would help to speed up
the arrest. The three cars rolled quietly into the motel lot and parked to form a barrier
around Timmons’s Porsche. That sporty little car wasn’t going anywhere tonight.

The three deputies stood on sentry duty while he and Sgt. McNeill trooped to the motel
office. A pasty-faced clerk looked up with an insolent expression, chomping on a wad of
gum as they approached his desk. His expression changed dramatically when McNeill flashed
his badge.

We’re looking for a man named Timmons, the sergeant said brusquely. He may be using an
alias.

The clerk’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed his gum. We don’t have a Timmons
registered, he squeaked.

Try the name Johnson, Leif said, repeating Tracy’s description of Timmons.

Oh, yes. The clerk looked relieved. That’s Mr. Johnson. Room 26.

We need the key, the sergeant snapped.

Do—do you have a warrant? Leif watched as the clerk seemed to have an internal
debate—would he rather be in trouble with the motel manager or with these two
tough-looking lawmen?

Would you prefer that we broke down the door? Leif asked politely.

The clerk fell over himself in his rush to accommodate them. Room 26, he gasped, producing
the key.

McNeill signaled two of the deputies to station themselves outside, one in front and the
other in back of the building. Timmons was not going to escape through a window. The
third, Deputy Cabrera, followed as Leif and McNeill climbed the steps to the second floor.
Room 26 was at the far end of the building. They moved swiftly and silently along the
outside balcony.

Guns in hand, Leif and Cabrera flattened themselves against the wall. Sgt. McNeill stood
to one side to avoid a bullet as he hammered on the door. Open up, Plymouth County
Sheriff, he shouted.

Expecting resistance, Leif was surprised when the door immediately opened. The horn-rimmed
glasses were missing, but otherwise the man was just as Tracy described him. He greeted
them with a wide smile. So, what can I do for you, gentlemen?

Leif followed McNeill into the room, on alert for any wrong moves, but Timmons stepped
back, waving them in as though he were hosting a dinner party.

Rick Timmons, you are under arrest charged with murder and grand theft.

Timmons never lost his smile as the sergeant began reciting his Miranda rights. He held
out his hands to accommodate Deputy Cabrera in handcuffing him and frisking him for
weapons. Apparently he was clean.

I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake, he said pleasantly. My name is Johnson. Frederick
Johnson. I have identification.

Leif picked up the horn-rimmed glasses that were lying on the dresser. That’s an
interesting prescription you have for your spectacles, Mr. Johnson. Clear glass.

Still smiling, the man ignored Leif’s comments. I’m a salesman for Rinker Products. The
main office is closed at this hour, but I have my supervisor’s home phone number if you’d
like to call him. He can confirm my identity. Or maybe you’d rather speak to my attorney
about a lawsuit for false imprisonment.

McNeill paused, giving his prisoner the once over. Watch him, Cabrera, he ordered. I need
to speak to Chief Ericson.

Leif followed McNeill out onto the balcony. The sergeant scowled. What do you say, Chief?
Are you positive we’ve got the right guy? He’s a mighty cool customer.

Leif didn’t hesitate. I’ll get Tracy. She can make a positive I.D. He realized that all
his doubts and mistrust of Tracy were long gone. He had complete confidence in her.

Ignoring a stab of pain in his bad knee, he raced down the stairs and opened the door of
the SUV. Tracy was waiting, tense with expectation. Was he there? Did you get him?

We’ve got him, but are you sure this is Timmons? The guy is claiming we’ve got the wrong
person.

It’s Timmons, she said flatly.

He hated to involve her any further, but they needed her. Would you be afraid to face him
and confirm his identity?

I’d be honored. Tracy gave him an excited smile as she jumped to the ground. It will be a
pleasure.

Timmons didn’t flick an eyelash when Tracy followed Leif into the room. In spite of his
handcuffs, he was still acting as though he were enjoying a social call from friends.

Hello, Rick. Tracy looked him squarely in the eye. It was so very kind of you to involve
me in your crimes.

And who is this young lady? said Timmons cheerfully. Charming.

Tracy put her chin up. Leif knew that was her battle flag. You’re not fooling anyone,
Rick. Leif, if you’ll check the palm of his left hand, you’ll find an L-shaped scar from
an old injury. As I recall, a firecracker blew up in his hand.

For the first time, Timmons showed a crack in his polished façade. You don’t have
jurisdiction here, Chief, he muttered.

Right, Leif agreed. I’m just a consultant on the case.

I have all the jurisdiction you can handle, Sgt. McNeill growled. You’re still in Plymouth
County.

The deputy had cuffed Timmons’s hands behind his back. Leif stepped around him and turned
his left hand palm out. Tracy knew what she was talking about. That’s some scar, Timmons,
he commented. I bet that firecracker hurt like blazes.

Timmons’s jolly-good-fellow attitude deflated as the air fizzled out of his balloon. He
didn’t offer a word of protest as Sgt. McNeill and Deputy Cabrera marched him out the door.

Leif and Tracy stood leaning over the balcony railing, watching as McNeill squeezed his
prisoner into the back seat of the patrol car.

With his hands on her shoulders, Leif turned her to face him. She was aglow with triumph.
She had won the battle.

With the arrest of Timmons, she was no longer a suspected criminal. He was free to express
his feelings. But were they all one-sided? Had she forgiven him for letting her down? He
wasn’t afraid to confront a six foot man armed with a knife, but this little bit of woman
terrified him.

He was touched to see tears of joy in her eyes. He held his breath as she stood on tiptoe
to put her arms around his neck. Thanks for believing in me.

He pulled her closer. He had been waiting so long for this moment. You’re very welcome, he
murmured.

What kind of a Romeo was he? He groped for some romantic words to whisper in her ear, but
his tongue was tangled. He was so in love with this woman, he couldn’t find the words to
tell her. The only way to communicate his feelings was with a kiss—a long, slow, lingering
kiss.

 
****

Tracy kept one eye on Leif’s SUV in her rear view mirror. Her Viking was still watching
over her, following her home to be sure she arrived safely. It was after two in the
morning by the time they pulled into her driveway, but she didn’t want to say goodbye—not
tonight, not ever.

I know it’s late, Leif, but can you come in for a cup of coffee? I’m too wound up to sleep.

Twist my arm a little, he teased. Her heart lifted as he took her key and unlocked the
door.

Thor was yelping from the kitchen. Tracy felt a rush of guilt. Oh, poor Thor. He’s been
shut up alone all this time. She rushed to free him.

Thor bounced out to greet them with enthusiasm. Tracy hugged the puppy, murmuring
apologies. She scratched his favorite spot under the collar as she looked up at Leif. I’m
afraid I’m going to find a few puddles.

Do you want me to take him outside?

That would be great. His leash is by the back door. If you’ll give him a quick visit to
the back yard, I’ll put the coffee on.

By the time Tracy had mopped up a few accidents, Leif was bringing Thor in through the
back door. He stood leaning against the door jamb, simply watching her. In the silence
they were like two strangers, suddenly struck dumb by the intimacy of the place and the
hour.

She busied herself with the coffee maker. Was this the end? Would Leif lose interest in
her now that she was no longer the bait to catch Rick Timmons?

 Wordlessly they carried their coffee into the living room, but as they settled on the
sofa, the spell was broken. Leif put his arm around her and Tracy let her head fall onto
his shoulder. Her heart told her that was exactly where it belonged. She wanted to freeze
this moment and save it forever.

Leif smiled down at her. I wish I could see Detective Diaz’s face when I call and tell him
that his suspect solved the case for him.

Tracy had to laugh. It would be a treat to see Detective Diaz speechless, that gravelly
voice totally silenced. Be sure to give him my love.

You know, I was worried there for a while, he confessed. Timmons is such a smooth
operator; he had me wondering if you had made a mistake.

She nodded. Rick could sell snowshoes in the Sahara. Now you know how he convinced me he
had an invitation to Ronda Starr’s reception. If there was a contest for con artists, he’d
win the grand prize.

Did you ever tell Diaz about that scar on his hand? He faxed me a description of Timmons,
but it didn’t mention the scar.

Tracy sighed. Leif, I was so scared and upset when Detective Diaz questioned me, I
couldn’t think straight. He asked me if Rick had any tattoos or scars or distinguishing
marks. I thought he meant something in plain sight, like on his face or his neck, that
would be visible to anyone who saw him.

Well, you nailed him. That’s what matters.

We nailed him, she reminded him. We never would have caught him if you hadn’t trusted me.
She paused. What if I had been wrong? she asked hesitantly.

Leif cupped her chin in his hand and caressed her cheek with his thumb. I still would have
believed in you, he whispered. A guy has to trust the girl he’s going to marry.

 
****

The Ericson’s dining room was crammed to capacity. Besides herself, Tracy counted five
Ericsons, two Scalias, and Rev. Jim. Leif’s sister-in-law was determined to throw an
engagement party despite her injuries. Anne directed traffic, supervising the preparations
like a drill sergeant from her wheelchair.

Tracy felt like royalty with everyone else waiting on her. The side dishes came from the
deli, but Leif grilled steaks on the outside barbecue. The tempting aroma of sizzling beef
and charcoal smoke wafted through the screen door. Maggie brought her world famous
chocolate chip cake. While Mark and Luke were setting the table, Val was balancing on his
crutches, stringing up streamers and wedding bells.

It didn’t seem possible that Anne had managed to put this party together without word
leaking out to the press. She had sworn the guests to secrecy, and everyone, including the
boys, kept their mouths sealed.

Ever since the New York newspapers announced to the world that Ronda Starr’s jewelry had
been recovered, Tracy and Leif became the flavor of the month. They were under siege by
the media who were intrigued by the story of the capture of the notorious Rick Timmons.
Every talk show wanted an appearance by the courageous young woman and her handsome cop.
Every magazine and newspaper wanted an interview with the romantic couple.

They agreed to an appearance on the Christian TV network, but once was enough. They turned
down a barrage of lucrative offers to tell their story. But the reporters were ingenious.
When they couldn’t squeeze a comment from Tracy or Leif, they interviewed everyone else in
the area, from Sgt. McNeill to LeBlanc, the maitre d’ at the Landing.

The highlight for Tracy was when Keith Bradford proclaimed her the town’s favorite
daughter, the heroine of the community.

She prayed that the furor would subside before their wedding. Somehow it had become the
most anticipated event in Plymouth County since the marriage of Priscilla Mullins and John
Alden. She didn’t want their precious day turned into a media circus. Leif’s men offered
to stand guard at the church and turn away anyone who appeared without an invitation. That
sounded a bit drastic, but it might be necessary.

There would probably be photographers hiding in the bushes on the village green, but that
couldn’t be helped. Tracy had learned not to flinch when a cameraman popped out from
behind the produce at the grocery store. If the clamor continued, they might have to send
out invitations by registered mail, delivered by CIA agents.

When the steaks were ready, all her favorite people joined hands around the table. Anne
called on Rev. Jim to say grace.

The pastor beamed with pride as though he was personally responsible for the love match.
Dear Lord, this is such a happy occasion, we are all filled with your love. Bless Tracy
and Leif, give them a long and happy life together, and bless this wonderful food and
fellowship.

Amen, they all chorused.

Under the table Leif reached for Tracy’s hand. She looked into his eyes and forgot there
was anyone else in the room. The cop had captured her heart, locked it up, and thrown away
the key.