Shirl Henke - Sneak And Rescue

“You? A geek?” That was the very last thing she could imagine her six-six sexy husband ever being. “Get outta here!”

Matt could see the humor in the situation as he looked at her amazed expression. “My height was a bigger number than my weight in junior high. I wore braces and needed correctional glasses—though at least they weren’t as ugly as these.” He looked down at the askew horn-rims on Farley Winchester. “I can identify with the kid. Sometimes other galaxies can hold a real appeal.”

“Maybe just being born with a silver spoon doesn’t make up for other stuff,” Sam said thoughtfully. “Your parents died when you were nine, right?” He nodded. “And Aunt Claudia popped in and out of your life like Auntie Mame?”

“Why do you think I went to private boarding schools all those years?”

She sighed. “I thought all Beacon Hill kids just did. Dumb, huh?” She walked over to him and laid her head against the steady beat of his heart. “I’m sorry, Matt.” Before he could reply, her head shot up and she looked him straight in the eye. “But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on Aunt Claudia’s offer. Ten K a month just to stay married isn’t anything to sneeze at. Think of it as her penance.”

His expression turned grim. “Episcopalians don’t do penance. And even if they did, she wouldn’t. Forget the money. We’ll never agree about it.”

“You’re right about that, but don’t think I’m gonna give it up,” she said stubbornly. Feeling him tense in anger, she paused. “Okay, let’s give that topic a rest for a while.” She began tracing small circles on his bicep with her fingertips. “About doing some checking for me…”

“What do you need?” he asked, resigned. With her out of town, he’d be bouncing off the walls as soon as he finished his current assignments.

“This whole thing smells kinda funny. If Farley withdrew twenty large from one of his daddy’s bank accounts, why are he and his pal Elvis using Winchester’s credit cards instead of spending the cash? Even if the kid’s spacey, er, a Spacer, a guy like Scruggs has to know how easy it’ll be to trace them. Besides, according to the doc, the kid’s crazy, not stupid.”

“Good point.” Matt rubbed his chin, considering. “You said something earlier about the shrink giving you bad vibes. Maybe I’ll check him and your ‘Roman Numeral’ guy out while you’re gone.”

“You’re the greatest—even if you were a geek before I met you,” she said with a cheeky grin. “Oh, yeah, about being a geek, I wouldn’t know a Reemulan from a rhinoceros. Fill me in a little about that stuff.”

“Reemulans have pointed ears, not horns. I can explain what you need to know about the Confederation of Planets, their allies and their enemies.” He began a lengthy discourse on the warlike Reemulans and their logical, peaceful cousins, the Vulcants. Both civilizations felt mere Earthlings were both technologically and ethically challenged. “Then there are the Klingoffs—”

“Are they anything like jackoffs?”

“Sort of, yes. Barbaric, living by a primitive warrior’s code but highly advanced in technology. Everyone in the galaxy thinks they’re animals.”

“They the ones who look like they have turtle shells glued to their foreheads?”

“I see you’ve watched a smidgen of the shows.”

“Went to a movie once—on a date. I didn’t get to pick the show,” she retorted. “Never went out with the guy again, either.”

Matt regarded her with a smirk. “Ironically, it’s Earth that first came to understand their culture and accept it. Come to think of it, you wouldn’t make a bad Klingoff warrior woman.” He pulled a volume from the shelf in his office and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically, flipping through the color photos and text about Space Quest in its various incarnations. “I can see why the kid’s schizoid. This is weirdsville, but it’ll give me enough background to fake it when I get to the convention. All I have to do is wait for a chance to snatch Farley.”

“Be careful. If Scruggs did hard time, even as a kid, he won’t want you taking away his meal ticket.”

“I always come out on top, remember?” she purred, planting a quick kiss on his mouth.

Sam drove a specially equipped Ford Econoline van, an old model with an engine her uncle Dec had helped her soup up. It could go from zero to sixty in less time than most fancy European sports cars and had been remodeled to serve the nurse-transporting-a-patient cover she used on many retrievals. The paneled back was furnished with a unique set of restraints to hold her “patients” securely while she drove.

Going against Matt’s advice, a frequent occurrence since they’d met, she headed out that night for St. Louis. It would be a long pull and the “Con” as he called it was set to begin the next day. Who knew where Farley and Elvis would head after that? Sam wanted the kid safely in her grasp while she could still reach him. Maybe they were saving the twenty K to skip to Mexico, for all she could figure.

Clutching a twenty-ounce paper cup filled with thick black coffee, heavy on the sugar, she headed up I-95 and hit the Florida Turnpike. Dawn was a faint glow on the horizon when she felt the blowout yank the steering wheel from her grasp. Cursing, she quickly corrected, grateful for her uncle’s training, then pulled to the side of the road. Wonderful. A stretch so isolated she could dehydrate before Road Assistance found her.

With no time to waste, she climbed out of the van and opened the back doors. This was hardly the first flat she’d changed, but dammit, it was costing her time! Sam wondered why the hell the tire had blown. She’d checked them carefully, always did before she drove. “Probably some litterbug tossing a beer bottle out his window a few miles back,” she snarled, placing the jack under the rear bumper.

Before she could start working the jack, headlights appeared on the horizon. Although she’d been careful to pull well off the highway, Sam had been drilled by her uncle Declan to always be wary of dozing motorists when the flat was on the left side of the vehicle. The inbred precaution saved her life. Still squatting, she glanced up to see the car veering directly toward her.

Sam dropped the jack and flung herself across the berm into the marshy weeds of the ditch.

Chapter 5

The car grazed her van, leaving faint dark smears on the white paint. Not a direct hit, but the speed of the encounter rocked the Ford’s suspension. By the time she climbed from the muddy ditch, pulling briars and dry leaves from her clothes, the car had vanished into the distance. She couldn’t even tell what make or model it had been. Too busy leaping for her life.

“What the hell is it about me and cars lately?” she muttered, thinking about the incident in the parking garage. Did someone want to stop her from retrieving Farley? She watched the horizon for lights as she walked to the front of the van and pulled out her cell. Dead zone. Big surprise considering she was smack in the middle of nowhere. May be best not to call Matt and worry him. And what could she tell Patowski or any of her cop buddies?

She hadn’t a clue about the car, other than that it wasn’t the Olds. That ancient rust bucket couldn’t have moved that fast without the driver putting his foot through the floor-boards and breaking a leg. And it had been an indistinct light color. The paint deposits on her van were dark.

“Damn, it’ll cost a bundle to get this baby repainted.” She would add the expense to Winchester’s tab, but having a quality paint job done took time and aggravation. Just in case the jerk decided on another crack at her, she dug her snub nose .38 out of the glove compartment and shoved it into her belt before returning to the jack.