“Grant Connelly. My passenger is Elaine Masters.”
She flinched as he lied to the dispatcher. If they were rescued by the police, she was going to have to give them her real name. This alias thing was tricky. It was most certainly a crime to give a false name to law enforcement, but in the scheme of crimes committed, swiping a backpack full of money was worse. Hopefully the police graded on a bell curve.
“All right, Grant,” said the dispatcher, “I’ll notify the sheriff’s office. We’ve had lots of accidents this evening and they’ll get to you just as soon as they can. In the meantime—” Her voice disappeared.
Grant looked at his phone. “Shit. We lost the signal.” He looked around as if trying to get his bearings. “Do you have anything in the trunk? Like flares or blankets or anything.”
She shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Sorry.”
“No, I should have thought of that myself. It was stupid to head out in this weather with no supplies. You’d think a survival guy would know that, huh?”
He turned off the engine, then pressed the silver handle, pushing his shoulder against the door.
“Now what are you doing?”
“I need to make sure there isn’t snow plugging up the tailpipe. I’ve already tried to kill us once today. I’d rather not poison us with car exhaust.”
Cold wind and snow rushed in as he climbed out and shut the door. He was back in minutes, but was already covered in white as he settled back in behind the steering wheel.
“It’s really coming down out there. We’ll be damn lucky if they see us. I can’t get the trunk open to get our overnight bags. What color bra are you wearing?”
“Excuse me?” This hardly seemed the time.
“I want to tie something bright to the car antenna to help the police spot us. Something dark might work too, but I thought you might be wearing one of those neon-colored bras you like to hang all over my bathroom.”
“I don’t hang . . .” Yes, she did, but they weren’t neon. Neon would be tacky. “They’re not neon. They’re just . . . whimsical.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m always thinking when they fall all over the floor. What a whimsical C cup that is.”
She was a B cup, but no woman in her right mind ever told a man her breasts were smaller than he thought they were.
“I don’t remember which bra I’m wearing,” she said, but she unzipped her coat and tried to reach inside the neck of her sweater to see the strap. The seatbelt hampered her actions and she reached down impatiently to unlatch it, her chest aching in the process. That had been a hard hit. Finally she’d wriggled around enough to hook her thumb in the strap and pull it up so he could see.
“What color is it?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s the red one. I like that one. Take it off.”
“Are you kidding me? You think I’m going to take my bra off?”
“I’m not kidding. It’s getting darker by the minute and the sooner we get something bright on the antenna, the better chance we have of somebody figuring out we need help. I have no idea when the police are going to show up and it’s cold as hell.”
Take your bra off. Was he joking? But Grant’s face was serious, even as he said, “It’s either your bra or my plaid boxers. What’s it going to be?”
“I’d like to see you try to take your boxers off inside this clown car,” she said as she unzipped her coat the rest of the way.
“Under any other circumstances, I would be most happy to oblige you.” His eyes darkened as she reached up inside her sweater.
“Could you turn around, please?” she asked.
“We could die in this car. Are you going to begrudge a dying man the chance to see your breasts?”
She stopped moving. “Could we really?”
He shook his head. “No, of course not. I’d never let that happen. But if I say, ‘yes, we could,’ would you show me your breasts?”
“Do you really think this is the time for this?”
“I’m just trying to keep warm.”
“Turn around.” Her voice was stern, but his teasing had warmed her up a little too. He finally complied and within seconds she had shimmied out of her bra and back into her coat. She reached over and tickled his ear with the strap and was rewarded by his sharp intake of breath as he caught it with his fingertips.
“Yes, I definitely like this one. Be back in a minute.” With a quick smile in her direction, he was out of the car again. It was already several degrees colder, and the light was just beginning to fade. What if they did die out here? Did that really happen to people? They were on Interstate 94. Surely the police or some motorist would spot them soon.
It seemed like forever before he was back in the car. It might have been one minute, it might have been ten. Her brain was as frozen as her breath in the air, but at last he tugged open the door and climbed back in. He was twice as snowy as before. His pant legs were coated with it.