"Nothing could be this important."
"It is."
"They'll tack months, possibly years, onto your sentence."
"Yes."
"Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"No."
"But you're throwing away years of your life. Think of all the things you're giving up."
"Like a woman."
The three words were spoken shortly and, like tiny bullets, put her sermon to death. She closed her mouth quickly, wise enough to keep silent on this particular subject.
Neither spoke, yet their thoughts were running along the same channels. From different perspectives each was remembering the events of the night before. Aislinn didn't want to acknowledge her disturbing memories—Greywolf standing in the doorway of the bathroom, naked and wet, his very indolence a threat. Or pressing her bra to his face, inhaling her scent with such carnal greed. Or untying her and covering her when she wasn't aware of it. The thoughts were stifling; she felt suffocated by them, by his nearness.
Finally she shut him out in the only way she could. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the seat.
* * *
"Dammit!"
She must have been dozing. Aislinn awoke abruptly with Greywolf's curse. He pounded the steering wheel with his right fist.
"What is it?" she asked, sitting up straight and blinking her eyes against the afternoon sunlight.
"Roadblock," Greywolf said, his lips barely moving. Through the heat waves shimmering above the stretch of highway, Aislinn saw that state patrol cars had blocked off the highway. Officers were stopping each vehicle before letting it pass.
Before she could even register what a welcome sight that was, Greywolf pulled her car onto the shoulder of the highway and shoved the gear shift into Park. In one lithe movement, he straddled the console, crouched over her, and unbuttoned her blouse, working the cups of her bra down over the mounds of her breasts.
"What are you doing?" she gasped, swatting at his hands. At first she'd been groggy from her nap, then too astounded to fight him off. By the time she realized what he was doing, he had her blouse unbuttoned halfway to her waist and her breasts bulging up between the deep V.
"I'm relying on human nature, that's what." Objectively checking his handiwork, and apparently finding it satisfactory, he vaulted over the seat. "Your turn to drive. Get us through that roadblock."
"But… No!" she protested vehemently. "I'll be only too glad to have you captured, Mr. Greywolf!"
"Get this damn car moving or they'll notice us pulled over and get suspicious. Put your tush in that driver's seat and pull the car back onto the highway. Now!"
The look she shot him over the back of the seat was fiercely hostile, but she obeyed him when he whipped the butcher knife from the waistband of his jeans and waved it at her menacingly.
"Don't even think of honking the horn," he warned, just as she thought of that very thing.
Butcher knife or not, she had every intention of pulling into that roadblock screaming bloody murder. As soon as she braked, she would burst out of the car door and let the authorities handle the savage.
"If you're entertaining any notions of turning me in, forget them," he said.
"You don't stand a chance."
"Neither do you. I'll say you were in collusion, that you harbored me last night and helped me get this far."
"They'll know you're lying," she scoffed.
"Not when they investigate the sheets on your bed."
Shocked by his words, she quickly glanced back at him. He was lying down on the back seat as though asleep. In his hand he was holding a photography magazine, which she assumed he intended to use as a tent over his face. "What do you mean?" she asked shakily, not liking the self-assurance in his gray eyes. "What do the sheets on my bed have to do with anything?"
"The police will find the evidence of sex on them." Her face went pale and her hands gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. She swallowed dryly from profound embarrassment. "Now, if you want an explicit explanation," he said softly, "I'll be happy to provide it. But you're a grown-up, so I think you can figure it out. I hadn't seen an unclothed woman in a long time, much less lain in bed with one, close enough to smell her, hear her breathing." His voice lowered. "Think about it, Aislinn."
She didn't want to think about it. Not at all. Her palms were already slick with perspiration and her stomach was roiling. When? How? He could be lying, making it up. He could also be telling the truth.
Before they arrested her, would the police give any credence to her side of the story? What proof could she show them to substantiate it? There would be no signs of forced entry at her condo. She wouldn't be implicated for long, of course. Eventually it would be proved that he was lying. But in the meantime he could sure make life difficult. And embarrassing. The incident would be something she would never live down, especially with her parents, who would be mortified.
"And I won't surrender without a fight," he whispered as she applied the brake to slow down, taking her place in line with the other cars.
"They won't take me alive." His voice was muffled by the magazine. There was only one car ahead of her now. The patrolman was bending down to speak with the driver.
"Unless you want my blood on your conscience, not to mention that of any innocents I might take with me, you'd better do your damnedest to get us through this roadblock."
Time for making a decision had run out. The patrol-man waved the car ahead of her on and signaled for her to move forward. Lord, how did I get into this situation and what am I going to do?
It was strange, but when the time came, she didn't have to think about it. Nor did she weigh her decision in the delicate balance between common sense and conscience. She merely reacted spontaneously.
She rolled down the window and before the state patrolman could utter a word, she blurted out, "Oh, officer, I'm so glad you stopped me. I think there's something wrong with my car. This little red light keeps blinking on and off. What do you think that means? Nothing bad I hope."
The ruse worked. Aislinn looked up at the patrolman wide-eyed and short-winded. At least the shallow, anxious breaths she was taking made her appear short-winded.
Her hair, which Greywolf hadn't given her time to comb properly that morning, was even more tousled from her nap in the car. It fell over her shoulders in a disarray that was most appealing, particularly to an underpaid state-highway patrolman who had drawn the thankless task of stopping cars on a lonely stretch of highway in the midday August heat to look for some renegade Indian who, in his opinion, was probably well into Mexico by now.
"Well, now, little lady," he said expansively, pushing his hat back from his sweating forehead, "let's see what the problem is here."
He leaned into the open window, ostensibly to check on which "little red light" was blinking on and off, but Aislinn knew his eyes were trained on her breasts. His expression changed, however, when he glanced into the back seat.
"Who's that?"
"Oh, that's my husband," she said with distaste, giving a negligent shrug. She twirled a lock of hair round and round her finger and suddenly wondered if the strand Greywolf had cut off would be noticed. "He gets as cranky as an old bear if I wake him up while we're traveling. He always makes me drive. Today, I'm glad he did." She batted her eyelashes over her big baby blues, and the officer smiled again.
Greywolf was a fair judge of human nature. Why she was going to such extremes to protect him at that moment, he couldn't say and didn't have time to analyze. The patrolman was speaking to her again.
"I don't see any red light right now." Ridiculously, he was whispering, apparently not wanting to wake up the sleeping husband who might prove to be a little more than cranky toward anyone who ogled his wife.
"Oh, well, thank you." Her bravery was in short supply. Now that she had aided and abetted a criminal, she was anxious to get away from the roadblock without being detected. "I guess it was nothing, then."
"It could mean that your motor's overheated," the patrolman said, leering. "I know mine is," he whispered in an even lower voice. Aislinn smiled weakly even as her skin crawled with repulsion.
Greywolf stirred and mumbled something. The officer's smug smile collapsed.
"I'll be seein' you," she said, easing her foot off the brake and gently applying it to the accelerator. She didn't want to appear too eager to be off, though the driver behind her was honking impatiently.
The patrolman shot him an intimidating look. "Better have that light checked if it comes back on. I could radio ahead and—"
"No, no, don't bother about me," she called back through her window. "I'll wake up my husband if it comes on again. Bye."
She cranked up the window and stamped on the accelerator. Looking through the rearview mirror, she saw that the patrolman was now engaged in explaining the situation to the irate motorist who had been detained longer than necessary.
Only when the roadblock was out of sight did she let her muscles relax. She had a death grip on the steering wheel and forcibly unclenched her fingers. Her nails had gouged crescent-shaped wounds into her palms. Letting out a long, shuddering breath, her body sagged within the confines of the driver's seat.
Greywolf climbed over the seat with a lithe agility surprising for a man as tall as he. "You did just fine. No one would ever guess that you're new to a life of crime."
"Shut up!" Aislinn shouted at him. With the same carelessness he had shown earlier, she wheeled the car onto the shoulder of the highway. Gravel sprayed from beneath the tires when she applied the brakes. As soon as the car came to a skidding stop she laid her head on the steering wheel and began to sob.
"I hate you. Please let me go. Why did I do that? Why? I should have turned you in. I'm scared and tired and hungry and thirsty. You're a criminal and I've never deceived anyone in my life. A law officer! I could go to jail now, too, couldn't I? Why am I helping you when you'll probably kill me anyway?"
Greywolf sat unmoving at her side. When she had at last cried herself out, she dried her wet cheeks on the backs of her hands and looked up at him with tear-swollen eyes.
"I'd like to tell you to cheer up, that the worst is behind us, but it seems our troubles have only started, Aislinn."
He was gazing down at her breasts, which she immediately remembered were indecently displayed. Her hands trembled as she pulled the cloth of her blouse over them. "What do you mean?"
"I mean the damn roadblocks. I hadn't counted on them. We need to find a television set."
"A television set?" she parroted in a thin voice.
His eyes scanned the stretch of highway behind and ahead of them. "Yes. I'm sure there will be a news story about the dragnet. Hopefully it will give us a thoroughly detailed account of how the authorities plan to apprehend me. Let's get going."
He hitched his chin forward. Wearily she steered the car back onto the highway. "What about the car radio? We can hear the news on that."
"Not as detailed," he said, shaking his head. "And haven't you ever heard that a picture is worth a thousand words?"
"I suppose you'll tell me where to go and when to stop."
"That's right. You just drive."
For almost an hour they rode in silence, though he passed her cheese and crackers he took from the sack. He peeled an orange and divided the sections between them. She didn't like eating from his hand, but opened her lips obediently each time he pressed a section of the orange against them.
As they approached the outskirts of a dreary-looking town, Greywolf instructed her to slow down. They were driving past the beer taverns that lined the highway like sad old whores in desperate need of customers.
"There," he said shortly, pointing with his finger. "Pull into the Tumbleweed."
Disgust registered on Aislinn's face. The Tumbleweed was the sleaziest-looking of all the honky-tonks. "I hope we're in time for happy hour," she remarked sarcastically.
"They have a television," Greywolf said, having spotted the antenna sticking out of the tin roof. "Get out."
"Yes, sir," she mumbled, tiredly shoving open her door. It felt good to stand. She placed her hands at the small of her back and stretched, then stamped circulation back into her feet.
There were only a few other vehicles parked in the dusty gravel parking lot in front of the tavern. Greywolf took her arm and dragged her along with him to the door. A good portion of the rusty screen had been ripped from its frame. The jagged edge, which curled outward, looked as intimidating as the rest of the place. Aislinn's plan was to appear resigned, but the moment they cleared the doorway, to scream for help.
"Forget what you're thinking."
"What am I thinking?"
"That you're going to escape me and run into the safe arms of a rescuer. Believe me, I'm the safest companion you could have in a joint like this." That wasn't saying much, considering that she had seen him slide the knife down into his boot before he left the car. "No," he said, slinging his arm across her shoulders, "look like you're having a good, sexy time."
"What!"
"That's right. We're having an illicit afternoon affair."
"You're insane if you think— And stop that!" she exclaimed when he slipped his arm around her waist and his hand came up her side alarmingly close to her breast. His hard fingers pressed into the tender flesh, securing her in a hold there would be no escaping from.
"Why, honey, is that any way to talk to your lover?" he whined.
Assuming an ambling, none-too-steady swagger, he pulled open the screen door, pushed open the rickety door and stumbled into the murky, smoky interior. To maintain her balance, Aislinn gripped the front of his shirt, pressing her hand against his stomach. He glanced down at her and winked, as though she had won his approval. She wanted to shout at him that she wouldn't have touched him had it not been a choice between that or falling down.
However, she said nothing. She was disheartened into speechlessness by her seedy surroundings. Such places as the Tumbleweed were portrayed in moves, but she had certainly never been inside one. The low ceiling was all but obscured by a pall of tobacco smoke. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, but seeing the place clearly only distressed her more.
In front of the bar was a row of stationary stools with red vinyl seat pads. At least they had been red once. Now they were all aged to a greasy, dirty maroon. Only three of them were occupied. As the door slapped shut behind Greywolf and her, three pairs of mean eyes turned toward them and gave them a suspicious once-over.
One pair, laden with crusty make-up, belonged to a blowsy blonde who had her bare foot propped up on the stool next to her. She was painting her toenails. "Hey, Ray, we got customers," she hollered.
Ray, Aislinn assumed, was the obese man behind the bar. He was leaning forward with his massive forearms braced on a refrigerator, his eyes glued to the television set that was mounted high in the corner. He was engrossed in a soap opera. "So wait on 'em," he bellowed back. He hadn't taken his eyes off the screen.
"My nails ain't dry."
Ray let go a string of obscenities that Aislinn thought were reserved only for public rest room walls in seaports. He pushed his fat bulk off the refrigerator and shot Greywolf and her a sour look. She was the only one who saw it. Her escort had his face buried in her hair and his tongue in her ear.
But apparently he hadn't missed anything. "Two cold beers," he said loud enough for Ray to hear. Then he gave Aislinn a slight push and maneuvered her toward one of the ratty-looking booths along the wall. It would provide them with a clear view of both the TV set and the door. "Sit down and scoot over," he whispered for her benefit.
Since he all but shoved her down, she had no choice. She didn't have a chance to inspect the cleanliness of the seat, but it was probably just as well. Greywolf slid into the booth after her and crammed her against the wall. "You're squashing me," she complained beneath her breath.
"That's the general idea."
He was gnawing on her neck when Ray waddled over carrying two beers in his hands, which looked like hams with dirty fingernails. The bottles of beer made solid thumps on the chipped Formica table when he set them down. "Three bucks. You pay as you go here."
"Pay the man, will ya, hon?" Lucas wheedled, sliding his hand over her shoulder in a circular, caressing motion. "I'm busy."
She ground her teeth together in an effort not to scream at him to take his hands off her, or to take her out of there, or to go to hell. But right then, she was glad he was there. He had known what he was talking about. Even if she could coax some sympathy out of Ray and the others, she doubted she would want to entrust herself into their care. At least Greywolf was a familiar villain.
She dug into her purse for three one-dollar bills and laid them on the table. Ray, still looking over his shoulder so he wouldn't miss a second of his soap opera, scooped them up and shuffled away.
"Good girl," Lucas spoke softly into her ear.
She wished Greywolf wouldn't be so earnest in his playacting now that Ray no longer posed a threat to him. He could at least remove his hand from inside her blouse, where his fingers were fiddling with her bra strap. "Now what?" she asked.
"Now we neck."
"You go—"
"Shh!" he hissed angrily. "You don't want to attract Ray's attention, do you? Or maybe those two cowboys are more to your liking. They'd just love rescuing a damsel in distress."
"Oh, stop," she said, when his lips slid down her neck. "I thought you came here to watch television."
"I did. But I don't want them to know that."