Shirl Henke - Finders Keepers

After she’d done the best she could with Granger, she quickly changed into another set of scrubs. Considering how furious he’d be, she decided it might be prudent to put him in the straitjacket while he was still malleable. Getting the jacket on him was not easy. He was dead weight and groaning at every movement. As she worked, Sam explained. “Maybe I should’ve told you I’m not just a med tech, Mr. Granger,” she said calmly. “I was a cop for seven years before I went into the retrieval business. I have a black belt in judo. Ni-dan.”

Great. Matt’s brain felt like an egg frying on a Miami sidewalk on the hottest day in July. It could comprehend what she was saying, but refused to have anything to do with his autonomously spastic muscles. I’ve been taken down by a woman—a woman half my size! Well, what next? He decided it didn’t matter. She probably had a nuclear device or two stashed in that fanny pack of hers.

By the time Sam had him propped up against the wall wearing his “custom jacket,” his tongue had begun to un-thicken. He tried it out. “Can you leave off the sleep mask? I feel disoriented enough without being blind, too.” He paused, then added grudgingly, “Please?”

“Sorry, but you’ve just amply demonstrated that I can’t trust you.”

He cocked his head at her as she reached for the mask. “Guess there’s no hope you won’t gag me, is there?”

“Not a hope in hell, Mr. Granger,” she replied, slipping it over his head, then starting to pull off a length of tape.

His tongue still did not work right. He spoke slowly, slurring his words. “You’re being a bitch, Samantha. I could’ve hurt you, but I didn’t. Now you’re torturing me.”

“Shut up,” she replied, clamping his jaws together with one hand while applying the tape with the other, feeling guilty as hell. Why couldn’t he just be another head case? Damn Sergeant Will Patowski and the whole Miami-Dade PD! Damn the FBI! She tried reminding herself that he had stuck his reporter’s nose in a police investigation and brought this on himself. Even his aunt had agreed enough to pay her a fortune to get him out of the firing line. But Sam still felt rotten.

As she wound the gauze around his head he mumbled curses through the tape. This time she was certain he was cursing and that she was the object of his fury. She could practically feel his eyes burning through the sleep mask. He would be one dangerous customer if he got loose again. This’ll teach me to think with my hormones.

“Okay. Time to hit the road, Mr. Granger.”

He didn’t move when she tugged at the collar of his robe. “I know the charge has worn off or else you wouldn’t be able to talk so glibly. We really do have to go, so…unless you want me to demonstrate how my little gizmo works on your thigh again—only a short burst, you understand—I suggest you let me help you up and walk to the van like a good boy.”

He climbed in the van like a good boy.

By noon they were on Interstate 70 in eastern Utah. Sam could not stop thinking about his last words before she taped his mouth. He could have punched her but he didn’t. He’d only grabbed her, trying to keep her from using the stunner. His plans had obviously not included using his fists. Unlike a number of rough customers she’d dealt with over the years—not to mention collars she’d made while on the force—he had not wanted to hurt her. And with those muscles, he certainly could have. He had every reason to be furious at the way she had treated him.

Dammit, his speech had been so thick from the stun, he must be parched by now. She knew how a shock like that messed with a victim’s—no, dammit—a patient’s electrolytes. Guilt was a bitch, she thought with a sigh. Maybe there was some way to make it up to him. That’s when she saw the sign advertising Sam’s Slurpee Stand. A message from God?

According to the billboard, the guy using her name served “the biggest baddest ice drinks this side of Death Valley. Only one mile off the highway.” She watched for the exit and pulled off, following the arrows that pointed down a twisting black-top road. “Sam’s a damned liar,” she muttered as the direction continued sending her deeper into nowhere. “I don’t have time for this.” Already they were hours behind schedule to make Denver.

Just as she was about to give up and make a U-turn, she saw the joint at a fork in the road. “Pays to advertise,” she said, observing the long string of cars inching their way toward the drive-up window. Of course, it probably didn’t hurt Sam’s business that this was the only place within a hundred miles. She took her place at the end of the line and looked at her watch. Damn, the service had better be pretty fast or she was out of here.

Then Granger groaned again. Sam settled back against her seat with a sigh of resignation. After what seemed like half a day, although she knew it was only half an hour, she reached the window and bought two supersize strawberry Slurpees. Not wanting any company when she gave the treat to her “patient,” Sam started to pull away from the small white clapboard drink stand. Suddenly the shrill bleat of a horn coincided with a nasty spray of gravel and the crunch of a fender. Hers.

No good deed ever goes unpunished. Sam rested her head against the steering wheel.

Some Utah yutz had just blindsided her. The rusty yellow pickup had pulled out from behind the stand and crashed head-on into the passenger side of her van. Great. Wonderful. Only Sam used stronger words for the situation as she climbed out to survey the damage. Already she could hear Matt making muffled noises from the back. Before he got it into his head to start kicking at the door, she rushed over to the wizened old man sitting behind the wheel of the pickup.

“I’m a nurse transporting a burn patient. He’s really in pain. Could I just exchange insurance information with you and get back on the road?” she asked the codger. When he grinned sheepishly at her, she could see why he liked Slurpees. He had no teeth.

“Right sorry about this here leetle bump.” He took a long swill of what looked like grape Slurpee, then pulled his wallet from his jeans and handed her his driver’s license.

“No, I need your insurance card, not your driver’s…” Her words trailed away when she glanced at the expiration date on the license. Damn! It had expired nearly ten years ago. Fat chance he’d have insurance. She handed the yellowed square back to him. “I don’t suppose—”

“Nope. But Jasper Hopwell’s good fer any damages. Jest ask anybody here at Sam’s. They’ll vouch fer me. Say, that there feller inside is sure raisin’ a ruckus. He all right?”

Matt was banging his foot against the door like the Beast from Revelation trying to escape the gates of Hell. Sam nodded. “Like I said, he’s in terrible pain. I have to get him to a burn center just outside Denver as soon as I can. Now, I wouldn’t want to get you in any trouble for hitting me, so why don’t we just forget about this little fender bender?”

“I’ll be glad to pay once’t yew git yer wagon fixed,” Jasper offered sincerely.

Here she was letting him off the hook and he was too decent to take the offer. “No, really, it’s all right. I’m fully insured through Fairview Hospital and my patient comes from a very wealthy family.” Well, that was sure the truth. Aunt Claudia would have bodywork tacked onto her bill. “I won’t get in any trouble.” Unless you call the local constabulary.

Jasper appeared to consider her appeal as she smiled her most winsome smile at him. She held her breath until he nodded. “Reckon, if’n yew say it’s all right. Tell yew the truth,” he whispered conspiratorially, “Effie, my missus, she’ll skin me and tack my hide to the barn door if’n she finds out I been drivin’ whilst she wuz off visitin’ her sister in Ogden.”