Dangerous Curves Page 2

  Reacting on gut emotion, Jake said, “There’s a tarp back there. Cover up with it and keep quiet.” She didn’t respond but Jake could hear the rustle of the tarp as she got into place.

  Jake rolled down his window as the officer approached him. The uniform wasn’t familiar. A local. Maybe his luck was changing after all. “Evening,” Jake said.

  The officer nodded, shining a flashlight into Jake’s face. “Sir, do you realize you were speeding?”

  Jake nodded. “Sorry about that.” He looked at his badge. Officer Barnell. The name was familiar but it was a long shot “Barnell? You ever work down in the Metro-Dade area?”

  The officer nodded. “Back in ’92 for a while, until the wife decided she was tired of the tourists and the crime.” He peered at Jake. “Do I know you?”

  “Our paths probably crossed. Jake Cavanaugh, Metro-Dade drug task force.”

  “Part of the Dream Team, huh?” Barnell asked, referring to the group of top-notch detectives Jake had headed up. “I’m sure I saw you around. What’re you doing in this neck of the woods?”

  “A little fishing. Decided to cut out early and head home.”

  “Catch anything?” Barnell leaned against Jake’s sport utility, apparently content to pass the time talking to another cop.

  Jake thought of his stowaway. “A little something. But I’m wiped out and ready to hit the sack.” He hoped the guy would take the hint and let him get going.

  The radio in the patrol car squawked and Barnell raised his hand. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  When the trooper was out of earshot, Jake said over his shoulder, “Hang on, we’ll be out of this in a minute.” He didn’t know why he was helping this woman. Maybe it was because she reminded him of someone else whom he hadn’t been able to help.

  Barnell double-timed it back to the truck. “Hey, Cavanaugh, you seen anyone out this way?”

  Jake’s senses went on red alert “Vehicles?”

  “Naw, someone on foot.” He glanced at the clipboard in his hand. “Female, Caucasian. Five-six, about a hundred and thirty-five pounds, blond hair.”

  Jake forced a laugh “I wish I had seen someone like that. Would have been a nice break in the monotony.”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to run into this broad.”

  “Why?” The hair on the back of Jake’s neck stood up. “What’s she done?”

  “She’s a nutcase from Sunlight and Serenity.”

  “Sunlight and Serenity?”

  “Private psycho ward for the criminally insane who have the money to buy themselves out of the state facility.”

  “Criminally insane, huh?” Jake’s senses were in overdrive now, screaming at him to give up his passenger before he got himself killed. “What did she do to land there?” The way Jake’s luck had been going, he should have expected the answer.

  “Murder.”

  Before Jake could decide to go with his instincts and turn Little Miss Psycho over to Officer Barnell, the radio crackled to life again.

  “Guess I’d better get going. She’s probably lost out in the swamp somewhere. Maybe if we’re real lucky she’ll be gator bait before morning.”

  Jake watched as Barnell got back into his patrol car and pulled around him with a wave of his hand. He was alone with a murderer. Aiding and abetting a known felon. Jake Cavanaugh had sunk lower than he’d ever thought possible.

  “You can come out now.” The words were cold and harsh. Sam wanted to stay put, but the tarp smelled of fish and felt oily. As if she had any reason to complain. She threw the tarp off and something yelped.

  “What the hell?” A wet nose followed by a wetter tongue touched her cheek and she pressed against the back of the seat. She could make out a dog in the darkness—a decidedly large dog. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a dog back there?” she asked as she climbed over the seat.

  “That’s Fletcher. He’s my fishing buddy.” A low woof from the back of the truck confirmed that Fletcher knew they were talking about him. “He’ll sleep through anything.”

  “I could have given myself away,” Sam grumbled.

  The man’s brown eyes met hers in the gloom. She’d heard every word of his conversation with the cop. She was in trouble. But for the first time since she’d left the hospital, she wasn’t afraid. This guy had helped her—for whatever reason.

  “Lady, you’re damn lucky I didn’t turn you in.”

  Sam watched his large hand flick on the headlights and start the engine. Losing some of her newfound confidence, she whispered, “So why didn’t you?”

  The look he gave her was unfathomable in the darkness. “I don’t know.”

  “Then you’ll take me to the interstate?”

  Pulling back onto the road, the man nodded curtly. “Yeah.”

  Sam sighed.

  “But I want to know who I’m helping and why According to Officer Barnell you were in the psych hospital for murder.”

  Sam nodded, staring straight ahead. She didn’t want to rehash the story, but if that was what it would take to get this man’s help, she’d do it. The thought in the back of her mind was that only a crooked cop would help her. Only someone who worked for them would do something illegal. Maybe he wasn’t her savior after all. Maybe he was delivering her to the very people she was trying to escape from.

  “Well?”

  Startled, Sam jumped. “What?”

  “Are you going to tell me who you are?”

  “Sam.”

  The man snorted. “Not good enough. What’s your whole name?”

  “Samantha Martin.” Regaining a bit of her courage, she asked, “And you are?”

  “You heard me before. Jake Cavanaugh.”

  “Officer Cavanaugh,” she said, emphasizing the word officer. Tension crackled in the air between them. Sam glanced out the window and saw the interstate sign. Five more miles.

  “Detective. And it’s ex-Detective Cavanaugh” The cop threw another odd look at her. “Now I’m just Jake.”

  “Still, you were a cop.”

  “Yeah.” Was that regret she heard in his voice?

  “And you didn’t turn me in.”

  “Nope.”

  “Want to tell me why?”

  Sam was jolted out of her seat when he jammed on the brakes. Without a seat belt on, she slammed into the dash and ricocheted back into the seat.

  Jake’s arm shot out to keep her from sliding to the floor. There was a yelp from the back as the dog bounced around. Pushed sideways on the bench, Sam looked up into eyes that were filled with concern—and something else she didn’t quite recognize. She pulled herself into a sitting position and scooted away from him.

  “Sorry, Fletch,” Jake called out before turning his penetrating gaze on her

  “What the hell did you do that for?” she demanded.

  “Look.” He gestured beyond the windshield.

  Sam stared out in front of them. A dark object stretched across both lanes. It looked like a log. But there were no trees on either side of the road, only a ditch that disappeared into murky swamp. “What is it?”

  “Gator.”

  Sam shuddered. This is what she had been out in the swamp with. “Can’t you do something?”

  Jake shrugged. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Go around it” Sam realized even as she said it that he couldn’t. The alligator took up most of both lanes, his rounded snout jutting into the lane on their side of the road while his jagged tail reached well into the middle of the other lane. To bypass it, they would risk toppling into the swamp.

  “Sorry, lady, I’m not in that much of a hurry.” Jake shut off the engine and settled back into his seat, arms behind his head. “He’ll move when he’s ready. Why do you think they call this Alligator Alley?”

  Alligator Alley. Sam shuddered. Had she been that close to danger? “Can’t you honk the horn or get out and scare him off?” Her frustration grew as she stared at the monstrosity that lay between her and freedom
.

  “You really are nuts. That tail has more power in it than three men. One swipe and you’d have to drive yourself to the interstate because I’d be on the way to the morgue.” Jake glanced at her. “And don’t be fooled by that large, slow body. That guy there can outrun a horse if he’s motivated. I don’t plan on giving him any motivation.”

  Sam bit her lip. “How do you know so much about alligators?”

  “Used to wrestle them.”

  She stared at him, wide-eyed. And he thought she was crazy! “What do you mean you used to wrestle them?”

  Jake shrugged. “Put myself through college working down at the Seminole Indian Village in Miami. Wrestled gators for the tourists. Course, we had a few tricks we used. And the gators knew me.”

  “There’s got to be a better way to earn a paycheck.” Sam had a faint recollection of the Seminole village. Her father had taken her there when she was four, maybe five. She’d been more fascinated with the bead crafts than with the alligator wrestlers.

  “My grandmother was full-blooded Seminole. I spent a lot of time at the village when I was a kid. My great-uncle taught me to wrestle and I liked it.”

  Sam shook her head. “Sounds like being a cop is the least dangerous thing you’ve done.”

  Jake’s eyes pierced through to her soul. She could vaguely make out the Native American features he had inherited from his grandmother—the high cheekbones, the straight, powerful nose. Her gaze traveled past the neck of his white T-shirt His lean, well-muscled torso looked capable of wrestling a gator. Or anything else, for that matter.

  “Lady, danger is what I do best. Always has been.”

  “Is that why you’re helping me? Because you like the danger?”

  “Maybe.” Jake suddenly started the engine and Sam realized that their friendly neighborhood gator had slithered off into the primordial ooze. “Or maybe I’m the dangerous one.”

  Chapter 2

  “Here we are.”

  Sam looked around They were stopped at an intersection, the streetlight flashing yellow at this hour. The sign for the interstate was straight ahead, beckoning her. A darkened strip mall squatted on one corner and an open-all-night gas station sign announced two-for-one chili dogs on the opposite corner. They were alone. But what had she expected? A welcoming committee? The cavalry?

  “Thanks, I’ll just get out here.” Sam’s hand was already on the door handle.

  “Wait a minute Where are you going to go?” Jake asked. “Do you have a ride?” He sounded like a Boy Scout, ready to do his duty but anxious to get back to the campfire.

  “No, but I’ll be fine.” She smiled at the man who very well might have saved her life. “Thank you.” She opened the door.

  Jake’s hand touched her arm and she stilled, feeling the warmth of him penetrate the damp material. It was, quite possibly, the first gentle human touch she’d had in over a month. It held her in place with more force than if he’d restrained her.

  “Look, this isn’t the best neighborhood to be wandering through at two o’clock in the morning. Isn’t there someplace else I can take you?” His voice was low, soothing. It reminded her of those late-night radio deejays. Familiar. It made her feel somehow less alone.

  “There’s only one place I can go.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Key West.”

  Unspoken questions were etched on his face. “Sorry, that’s a little out of my way. Besides, you haven’t told me what this is all about.”

  “Mr. Cavanaugh, you don’t want to know.” She stared out the window, hesitating for a moment too long.

  “Maybe I do,” came his quiet reply. “You look like you could use a good meal. Why don’t we go somewhere, get a hot dinner or breakfast, whatever you want. And you can tell me your story.”

  Sam knew she didn’t look like she was starving. A month of confinement had added several extra pounds to her usually lean frame. Luckily, the stolen uniform was several sizes too large. “Thanks, but you’ve done enough. What I don’t understand is why you want to help me.”

  “Me, neither, but I’ve taken you this far. You’ve got my curiosity up. Come on,” he cajoled.

  Sam’s stomach growled in answer and she suddenly felt light-headed. When had her last meal been? Yesterday? “All right. Just for a little while.” Her eyes surveyed their surroundings. Theirs was the only vehicle on the road. “Where can we go?”

  “I know a couple of all-night diners. Nothing fancy—” he glanced at her “—but then you don’t look like you’re up for a four-star restaurant.”

  The fact that he could joke about where she’d been should have had her warning signals going off like crazy. Instead, she relaxed. She was out of the worst danger. All she had to do was get to Key West. She’d think about the rest later. In the meantime, a meal—a real meal, not hospital food—sounded pretty damn good.

  Big Louie’s Diner was less than a mile from I-95. The narrow gravel parking lot was partially roped off and in the process of being resurfaced. A bright red sign announced a newly paved parking area in back. Jake drove behind the diner and parked next to the two other cars there. “Sit tight, Fletch,” Jake said before coming around to Sam’s door and helping her out His arm stayed on her elbow until they were inside the diner, as if he was afraid she would run off.

  Whatever her misgivings before, Sam felt some of her tension drain away as they settled into a booth near the back. Fatigue was wearing her down and the smell of comfort food warmed her from the inside out.

  A short-order cook and a bred-looking waitress in a pale pink uniform were the only people in the place. The waitress took their orders and shuffled away, not seeming to notice Sam’s ragged appearance.

  “Will your dog be all right out there?” Sam didn’t have a particular fondness for dogs, but it seemed like a safe topic.

  “Fletcher is tired. That’s why he didn’t notice you at first. But he’s better than a car alarm. As long as I bring him something to eat, he’ll be happy to take a nap until I get back.”

  “Oh.” Sam stared out the narrow opening in the red checkered curtains. The lights inside were dim enough that she could see part of the empty gravel parking lot and a discount department store across the street. The squeak of the waitress’s shoes announced her approach. Sam tilted her head toward the window, letting her hair fall limply across her face as the waitress put their drinks on the table.

  “So how did you come to be in the Everglades?” Jake asked when the waitress retreated to the front counter.

  Sam sipped her cola and stared at the scarred Formica tabletop. How much should she tell him? He knew she was wanted for murder and that hadn’t scared him off. Maybe he was a sicko, feeding on death and horror stories. Didn’t some cops burn out and turn bitter about the world? He had said he wasn’t a cop anymore.

  Sam traced the initials carved in the table, feeling very old. She looked up at Jake and realized that his eyes were blue, not brown as she’d originally thought. Dark blue. Her gaze shifted away as she read the questions in his eyes—questions she wanted to answer.

  “I was accused of murder and sent to Sunlight and Serenity.” She spoke the truth, but it barely scraped the surface of her month-long ordeal. The words sounded like they were coming out of someone else’s mouth. This wasn’t her life. Was it?

  “Isn’t this the point where you tell me you didn’t do it?”

  Sam tilted her head, the corner of her mouth edging up in a self-deprecating smile. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t do it?”

  “Did you?”

  “No.”

  “Really.” His tone was neutral—one she was sure he reserved for criminals. She expected no more.

  “I know it’s difficult to believe. But I’ve got something somebody wants. And they’re desperate enough to have me framed for murder and put away until they get it.”

  Jake pushed his glass around on the table, leaving a trail of moisture. The glass looked dainty in his lar
ge hand. He seemed to be thinking about what she had said. “Who framed you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you have that they want?”

  “Film.” She felt like she was back in the interrogation room—except then, she had lied.

  “Pictures?”

  “Just negatives.”

  Jake’s gaze was inscrutable. “What’s on the negatives?”

  Sam squirmed under his gaze—not because she had anything to hide, but because the questions he asked didn’t have answers. Yet. “I’m not sure. Pictures of people who didn’t want their picture taken—I think.”

  “You think?”

  The blandness of his tone was getting to her. “Look, you wanted to know my story and there it is. I’m sorry if it’s not tied up in a neat little package. If it were, I wouldn’t be here.” Conscious of the waitress’s curious stare, Sam lowered her voice. “I told you you didn’t want to know.”

  Jake’s eyes never wavered from her face. “I want to know. It just seems your story is full of holes.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Can I ask you one more question?”

  Sam sighed and tucked back a stray piece of matted hair. With the way her day had been going, she’d probably get some weird swamp disease. Her hands were trembling and she folded them in her lap, staring down at her ragged, dirt-encrusted nails. “Sure.”

  “Who was it you were supposed to have murdered?”

  Cringing inwardly at the most obvious question, Sam braced herself for his reaction and looked him in the eye. “A federal agent.”

  His eyes registered surprise, then became guarded. “I see.”

  “Do you?” Sam asked, unable to hide her bitterness. She’d been through hell. Alone. She didn’t ask for understanding or help. But it would be nice if someone would just believe her.

  “Okay, so I don’t. You caught me by surprise, that’s all.” Jake smiled, but his eyes remained guarded. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up a little and we’ll eat”

  Sam nodded slowly. “All right.” This was too easy. He wasn’t going to let her off the hook—was he? She slid out of the booth, wishing for a clean change of clothes. She shivered from the arctic blast of the air-conditioning vent and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “I’ll be right back.”