Tall, Dark And Wanted. Morgan Hayes
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thought…Well, forget it. If you say you need time, then you need time. Besides, your father already thinks I work you too damned hard.”
Molly returned the rare smile that twitched at the corners of Karl Burr’s mouth, the same smile she was quite certain only she had ever been privy to over the years he’d commanded the squad.
“Get your vacation slip to me. I’ll sign it. You can start today, if you like.”
“Thanks, Sarge.”
“Don’t thank me, Molly. They’re your days. ’Bout damned time you took some off.” He picked up his mug, the CPD logo on it lost behind his big hand as he lifted it to his lips.
When he opened the first file on his desk, Molly studied the top of his head, a mass of salt-and-pepper hair that seemed more “salt” than “pepper” these days. She wondered if it was due to age or stress, or more likely a combination of both. Still, there’d been no convincing him to join her father in retirement. Karl Burr was married to the force; more than that, he was committed to his squad.
“You’d better get that slip before I change my mind, Sparling,” he muttered, not looking up. But Molly could see the quiver of a smile on his lips before she turned to the door.
“I REALLY WISH you’d reconsider, Mitch.”
Mitch shook his head, heaving the last of Barb’s bags into the trunk of the rental car.
“I’ll be okay,” he assured her again, closing the lid.
“You know I’m going to be worried sick about you up here alone. It’s not safe. You should go to the police.”
They’d been over this at least a dozen times already, and Mitch had figured that by now Barb Newcombe, one of his closest friends in college, would have remembered his stubbornness.
“I’m not going to the police, Barb. I went to them once, and it almost got me killed. I’m better off keeping a low profile up here.”
She gave him a look, her blue eyes making the sternness appear even sharper. He’d seen that look too many times in the past couple of days.
He forced himself to smile then, and reached out to brush snow from her shoulder. “I’ll be fine,” he said, trying to assure her again.
“Well, you’ve got my numbers in Chicago. You call me…for whatever reason. Just call to let me know you’re okay, ’cuz I know you won’t answer the phone.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said again, feeling like a broken record.
She studied him for a long moment as the snow tumbled down around them in the still air. To his right, he was vaguely aware of the sun setting behind the distant line of firs, but even the slight blush of orange in the sky did little to warm the cold that settled over the northern landscape.
And then, as though Barb had at last given up trying to persuade him to do the logical thing, she threw her arms around him and gave him a hug.
“You’ve got the keys to my Blazer. And I’ve left you some more cash on the kitchen table,” she said, stepping back and lifting a hand to stop his objection before he could voice it. “Take it, Mitch. You can’t risk using your credit or bank cards. Think of it as a down payment. I’m considering an addition to the house.”
She smiled and walked around the car. When Mitch joined her, she turned to him once more.
“Be careful, Mitch. Promise me.”
“I promise. Everything’s going to be all right.” And Mitch wished he could believe his own words.
She nodded, touching his cheek with one cold hand. “By the way, I like you without the beard and mustache, you know?”
“Yeah?”
“You should have shaved it years ago. And the hair…” Mitch ran one hand across the short cut. It was definitely a different look than the one he’d sported the past few years. One he hoped would buy him some anonymity up here in the relatively secluded northern Ontario wilderness.
“…it suits you,” she finished. She flashed him a parting smile and folded herself elegantly into the driver’s seat of the rental car.
“Just be careful, Mitch,” she added one more time before rolling up the window and popping the vehicle into reverse.
He watched her back the car out the drive, giving her a quick wave as she turned down the side road and disappeared out of sight. Even after the sound of the engine was swallowed up by the dense, snow-covered forest, Mitch stood in the drive, recalling the many words of warning Barb had given him over the past couple of days.
She was right in a lot of her fears. There was only so long he’d be able to hide, only so long he could run from Sabatini. And it wasn’t as though any of this nightmare was going to just go away on its own.
Eventually, Mitch turned back to the house nestled in the firs and pines. From its rocky perch, it overlooked frozen Bass Lake, sheltered from most of the other cottages and houses that clustered along its shore. Barb’s house couldn’t exactly be classified as a cottage, even if it didn’t quite measure up to the grand expectations both she and Mitch had talked about back in college. But when Barb finally made CEO of a software company in Chicago, she’d held Mitch to his college promise to design her lakeside retreat.
The two-story, wood-and-glass structure was easily one of the most impressive in the lakeside community, he thought with pride as he headed up the front steps. Now more than ever Mitch was grateful he’d talked Barb into adding the spare bedroom to the initial plans; he’d made good use of it for the past three nights.
Nothing had felt better than that extra bed after the full day he’d spent on a Greyhound from Huntington all the way through Sault Ste. Marie and on up to Wawa, followed by a one-hour car ride after Barb picked him up at the terminal.
He’d had a whopping headache by the time they pulled into the hidden driveway, but he’d known it was more on account of the blow he’d sustained from a flying plank during the explosion than from the long hours sitting in a cramped coach.
Reaching the wraparound porch, he lifted one hand to his forehead and fingered the neat piece of gauze that covered the healing gash. It had bled fiercely when he’d scaled the fence of the bungalow’s backyard. He mustn’t have been unconscious for long, he’d decided. He’d already staggered a good three or four blocks from the safe house before he’d heard the wail of sirens.
He knew then that, unless he had a death wish, he couldn’t return to Chicago, and even before he located the bus terminal in Huntington, he’d already decided he had to come here. He could trust Barb. No one else. Not even the police, it seemed.
There was one person on the Chicago police force he might be able to trust with his life. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d thought of Molly during the past few days. Then again, how was that any different from the past twelve years? In all that time, not a day went by when he hadn’t thought of her, when he hadn’t wondered about calling her, seeing her. But in all those years, he’d never had the courage. Nor had he ever been able to think of the words to apologize for what he’d done to her.
Chapter Two
Molly gripped the wheel of her Jeep Wrangler a little tighter and eased her foot off the gas as she maneuvered the vehicle into a sweeping curve. The headlights skimmed across the high snowbanks, hinting at the dark trunks and dense underbrush beyond. Normally she’d enjoy a drive like this—twisting blacktop through the middle of the wilderness. But with the snow coming down even thicker now, and with the wind battering against the side of the Wrangler, the fun was lost to the struggle against the elements.
Not to mention the fact that she was exhausted. For almost ten hours straight she’d battled the slippery conditions of Highway 131, then traffic along the I-75 heading north through Michigan; she’d spent another three past the