Trust No One (13 page)

She resisted the urge to wipe her hand on Angel’s blanket and waited in silence until he opened the door. “Thanks.”

“Always liked this car,” he said, resting his hand on the door. “Even with the girly color.”

“Lots of tough guys used to drive this car with the girly color. It’s called Playboy Pink.”

“Yeah, I imagine it was a babe magnet. You don’t drive it much.”

“I work down the road, no need to drive.”

It was obvious he wasn’t leaving anytime soon, so she pushed the front seat out of the way and bent over to put Angel in her car seat in the back.

She felt Officer Jenkins’s eyes on her ass the whole time. She hadn’t changed out of her leggings from earlier and imagined he was getting quite a view. Now, that was disturbing. But better her ass than noticing Ben’s truck. Of course, there was no way he could tie her to the truck.

She straightened as fast as she could. “I’m all safe now, thanks for your help.”

“Why don’t you give me a ride up to the street?”

“I thought you were asking about the supposed gunshot. There’s still my neighbors.”

“If you, a former trained government professional didn’t hear anything, I doubt Mr. and Mrs. Thomas heard anything either.”

“Well, okay, get in.” She reached across and unlocked the passenger door, really not happy with the vibes she was getting off the man. Sooner she got rid of him, the better.

She started the car, noticing his gaze sweeping over the garage before he returned his attention to her. She drove the car up to the street level.

“I like the look of a baby in your arms.”

She shot him a look.

“Rather than seeing your fists flying at me.”

“Hm, you’re the kind who likes women barefoot and pregnant then?”

“More like barefoot and just practicing on the getting pregnant part.”

He allowed her time to process what he said before he reached out to touch her face. “Sorry about your eye.”

Her mind was still chewing on that practicing part of the sentence, just the thought. Ugh. “Oh, um. . .it’s not too bad. Just part of working out.”

“Next time we might try a different kind of work out.” He opened his door.

“A different kind–” She cut herself off when his hand came back to her face. No help for it, he was going to be a bigger prick than usual.

She leaned away but he kept his hand on her face and brushed his thumb across her lips. “Yeah, the kind where we bang pelvises instead of fists.” He stepped out of the car, bent back inside.

She’d seen lust in his eyes more than once, but his bold words took her by surprise regardless. This had to be some psychological tactic to mend his wounded he-man pride.

She realized her mouth was open. She closed it, scrambled for a response to diffuse the horribly awkward moment. “Man, you’ll stoop to any level to beat me won’t you?”

“Think about it, darlin’. See you next workout.” With a grin he shut the door.

Ewww, sex with the cop. Double ewww. She’d rather rewire a German-engineered car. But she gave him credit, she would have to work to keep that image out of her mind the next time they sparred.

Driving down the road to Tex’s, she studied the rearview mirror to see if she were being followed. She forgot about Officer Jenkins and turned back to the ordeal facing her. Bundling Angelina’s body, warm and heavy with sleep, close to her when she took her out of the car seat, MJ squeezed, hoping they would soon be together again. She ignored the hovering feeling that maybe this was the last time she’d see her daughter.

She walked up to the door and knocked.

* * *

Count your blessings. That’s what MJ told herself as she drove away, leaving Angelina behind. At least Angel liked Dottie, and MJ trusted the older woman more than she’d trusted anyone these last few years. Still, she liked the simplicity of working at the garage so resentment pulsed through her at being forced into working at a job she no longer wanted.

Pain stabbed at her fingers. She realized she gripped the steering wheel tight enough to bust through a rusted bolt. She forced her muscles to relax, raised and lowered her fingers, wiggling each one around to push blood back into circulation.

She stopped at a 24-hour chain gas station. Thank goodness even small towns had pay at the pump, because this was the last time she planned on using her credit card. This time wouldn’t draw attention to anyone watching for her credit card activity since it was local. There was always the thought someone might follow her to Tasha.

MJ didn’t plan to leave an easy electronic trail for anyone to follow so she still had to make one last stop at the ATM to withdraw cash. That, combined with cash she had stashed in her go-bag, should last her a few days. When she’d been in the business, she’d had fake ID’s and matching credit cards. No longer having those resources, she had to rely on good old-fashioned money. Quaint.

As she headed out of town, MJ tried to think like Tasha—where should she start? MJ decided to head for Ed’s house. Ed was the only thing she and Tasha ever had in common. After her adopted dad retired, he and his wife Lauryn had moved from the hectic life outside of D.C. to a small town in Indiana. The movie and book Bridges of Madison County had inspired their move, since Lauryn loved the story. She had even agreed when Ed bought a vacation cabin in rural Indiana, even though Lauryn was definitely not the outdoorsy, cabin type. With a husband gone so much, MJ wondered if Ed’s wife had ever dreamed of having an affair with a photographer just passing through town.

Or if the peaceful, slower-paced life was the attraction. Peace and quiet, that was the kind of life MJ craved. The sort of life she would have with Angelina once the adoption was final. With no need to look over her shoulder.

After years in the business, MJ had saved quite a sizeable nest egg, safe and secure in several foreign accounts. And like her money, did she want to be safe and secure in a foreign land with her daughter? If she moved out of the states, she definitely wouldn’t have to worry about being called back into service for Vista like now.

Something to consider.

MJ adjusted her position, stretched her neck, and mentally psyched herself up for the fifteen hour drive. It had been a long time since she’d pulled an all-nighter. Even the one time Angelina had been sick through the night, MJ had been able to nap. To make it through this night, she was going to have to stop at a fast food place soon for a shot of caffeine.

Of course, it would be faster to fly to Indiana, but airports left paper trails. And they had all those bothersome anti-terror rules now about carrying weapons, which while necessary, was nothing more than a big pain.

Even renting a car was too risky since the rental places wanted a life history. Besides, she’d much rather drive her own little restored Playboy Pink ’67 Mustang. The shiny pink colored car had turned more than one head in town, and true, it might turn a few heads on the road too, but she trusted her own car more than any other option on such a short notice.

She patted the steering wheel with a touch of pride. This would be the first time she’d taken the car on a road trip since she completed rebuilding the 289 high-performance V8 engine. So if she were a total Pollyanna and looked on the bright side—taking this enforced trip would test out her mechanic work.

“Yeah, bright side,” she muttered to herself.

Navigating the fastest way through the deserted streets of the town, MJ turned her Mustang north to head for the highway. She perked up when a car turned in behind her. With the town basically rolled up for the night, it was unusual enough to encounter a car on city streets, but one turning after her as she headed for the highway was too much of a coincidence.

Not Ben, though she knew he’d follow if he could. But even if he’d managed to wake up, his truck wasn’t drivable. Of course, he could have had another car stashed somewhere. She would have. But the likelihood of him waking up and moving at the kind of speed it would take to be behind her now just wasn’t feasible.

Whether MJ slowed down or speeded up, the car stayed the same general distance behind her. When she got off the highway for a detour through a drive-through restaurant, the car didn’t follow. MJ knew better than to relax her guard, knowing if she were driving the car behind her, she’d be waiting on the other side of the entrance ramp.

The aroma of strong coffee in her hand mingled with the smell of the hot apple pie waiting in the sack. It had been hours since dinner, the adrenaline rush from patching up Ben and sneaking out was wearing off. A good jolt of caffeine and sugar would give her a boost to ward off a fast-approaching slump.

She took a sip of coffee, almost spewed the scalding brew back out. She swallowed, felt a blister form on the roof of her mouth. “Damn.” Hadn’t that lawsuit done any good? She twisted her lips in a grimace, blew into the little hole in her coffee lid, sipped more cautiously. She pulled back onto the highway.

As she had expected, the car was waiting for her. It took up its place behind her again, keeping the distance between them steady.

Sixty miles further into the trip, the coffee now cold and more than half gone, and a long stretch of empty road ahead of her, MJ found herself feeling bored and bitchy. With the car still tagging behind her, she decided to liven up the evening.

Time to test out the new rebuilt engine.

“Let’s see what kind of muscle you got,” she said to the rearview mirror, watching the car behind her. She downshifted to third, stepped on the gas. The engine growled, the Mustang shot forward. MJ let the rpm’s build and popped the gearshift back to fourth. By the time she had the gas pedal to the floorboard, the speedometer had pegged 120 mph.

The car behind her sped up as well, keeping the same distance between them. “Interesting. Something with power definitely.”

MJ held the Mustang wide open—wide fucking open as those racing boys liked to say—and the car behind never wavered. She saw an approaching exit for a farm-to-market road.

“Okay, you got horsepower, so what kind of driver are you?”

Lessons from Ed came into play as she hit the exit just under 100 mph. The back of the car fishtailed but she straightened it easy enough. Like most fathers, or men stuck in fatherly roles, Ed taught his new kids what he thought they needed to know. Not something simple like take a jacket when it’s cold or make sure your cell phone is charged. No, for Ed, important lessons consisted of learning to drive fast, and to maneuver a car through obstacles at high rates of speed.

She had the speed. Now for the obstacles. The approaching turn to the farm road fit the role—she tilted the car on two wheels to make the 90 degree turn. The car behind her lost speed, but on the straight stretch of road, caught back up to the Mustang easily enough, suggesting it had more horses under the hood than the Mustang.

Ahead MJ saw a small country post office. Next lesson of Ed’s—how to spin a car in a tight 180 at speeds a little less than needed to reach orbit. The tires screeched with the fast turn into the post office parking lot. MJ worked the clutch, gearshift, brake and steering wheel as well as any musician on a fine instrument, and spun the car in a half circle to head out again.

With no electric window, she rolled the window down by hand before snatching her gun off the passenger seat. Prepared for Ed’s last lesson. How to shoot out the tires of a moving car with her left hand while driving. She pulled back onto the road just as the Porsche pulled even with the parking lot.

Porsche
. The car stopped MJ from shooting, not that she meant to shoot anyway, unless it had been necessary.

But the car was a sleek silver Porsche 911.
Tasha
.

The thought registered at the same time MJ realized the Porsche hadn’t stopped. MJ spun the car around in another U-turn and took off after Tasha.

The pursued became the pursuer.

The blacktopped two-lane farm road was riddled with curves. MJ kept the car steady easy enough, but the Porsche pulled away. Tasha was as skilled a driver as MJ, and her car had more power.

“Come back here, damn it. I want to go home to my daughter.” MJ slammed her hand on the steering wheel. Just then Tasha spun around a tight curve that was almost 90 degrees. The car skidded crazily before straightening back out. MJ hardly had time to draw a breath before she was forced into the turn too. Her heart pounded in her throat while she fought to keep her car on the road. An unexpected turn like that at 120 miles an hour made the adrenaline pump.

Her cell phone rang. Her hand still shook from adrenaline overload as she answered.

“Wasn’t that fun?” Tasha’s voice came across as breathless, excited.

“My idea of fun has changed over the years.” MJ tried to keep a level voice though her throat was still tight.

“Your pretty pink Mustang doesn’t have enough ponies to keep up with my baby.”

They were on a straight stretch of road again and once more, Tasha’s Porsche pulled away.

No, MJ’s car wasn’t a match. Niko had spent a whole summer rebuilding the 1976 turbo charged 911 Carrera for his sister as a college graduation present, bitching the whole time at the intricate German engineering.