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Assignment: Marriage
Jackie Merritt
THE COP SAYS, "I DO?" Marriage wasn't in his job description, but officer Tuck Hannigan's latest assignment was playing husband to an extremely vulnerable - and incredibly beautiful - witness. He'd protect Nicole Currie from danger - he'd even share a home with her. But there was no way he'd let go of his stony facade and make their pretend marriage a real one… .Nicole Currie wanted her quiet life back. Instead, she was to be Tuck Hannigan's "bride" for as long as it would take to catch a murderer. But soon she was sharing candlelit dinners and heated kisses with her ruggedly handsome "husband" - and wishing their assignment would never end… .



Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u5f0d0454-949b-587b-b09b-cecbd0356f5f)
Excerpt (#u99e89a97-4d28-505e-ae67-528e739ea577)
Dear Reader (#u1e3bf767-a331-581d-bcd0-dac119adb9ff)
Title Page (#ua3bd3f4c-fea1-5a5e-8373-df4bb5dc4aaf)
About the Author (#u098c3bd1-d81c-560a-bf89-0175266ec9b2)
Prologue (#u383bd3c2-8c7b-5d62-816a-c4a427ca8268)
One (#ubda3c8a4-1871-5724-8189-de5586bed2a9)
Two (#u14da9a65-c943-53da-809f-342b1db63098)
Three (#u79210409-4335-5d5e-87b1-bb9135bac5f6)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“Everything’s Going To Be All Right,”
Tuck said, stroking her hair.

“Hold me, Tuck. Please hold me,” Nicole whispered.

He turned slightly to bring her closer, and when he did, her hands slid up his chest to the back of his neck. She pressed tightly against him.

His heart started hammering. He’d only intended to offer comfort, but their embrace was becoming sexual. Even knowing he should stop it here and now, he didn’t. The woman in his arms felt like no other he’d ever held. Her scent was unique, as was the texture of her hair and skin.

She lifted her chin to look at him, and he saw the glaze of emotions gone wild in her beautiful blue eyes. In the back of his mind was a suspicion that she was not fully aware of what she was doing. But her upturned lips and beseeching expression couldn’t be ignored. Nor could he be so cruel as to turn his back on her when she needed him most.

If that need had evolved into desire, so be it.
Dear Reader,

We all know that Valentine’s Day is the most romantic holiday of the year. It’s the day you show that special someone in your life—husband, fiancé…even your mom!—just how much you care by giving them special gifts of love.

And our special Valentine’s gift to you is a book from a writer many of you have said is one of your favorites, Annette Broadrick. Megan’s Marriage isn’t just February’s MAN OF THE MONTH, it’s also the first book of Annette’s brand-new DAUGHTERS OF TEXAS series. This passionate love story is just right for Valentine’s Day.
February also marks the continuation of SONS AND LOVERS, a bold miniseries about three men who discover that love and family are the most important things in life. In Reese: The Untamed by Susan Connell, a dashing bachelor meets his match and begins to think that being married might be more pleasurable than he’d ever dreamed. The series continues in March with Ridge: The Avenger by Leanne Banks.
This month is completed with four more scintillating love stories: Assignment: Marriage by Jackie Merritt, Daddy’s Choice by Doreen Owens Malek, This Is My Child by Lucy Gordon and Husband Material by Rita Rainville. Don’t miss any of them!
So Happy Valentine’s Day and Happy Reading!

Lucia Macro
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Assignment: Marriage
Jackie Merritt






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

JACKIE MERRITT
and her husband live just outside of Las Vegas, Nevada. An accountant for many years, Jackie has happily traded numbers for words. Next to family, books are her greatest joy. She started writing in 1987 and her efforts paid off in 1988 with the publication of her first novel. When she’s not writing or enjoying a good book, Jackie dabbles in watercolor painting and likes playing the piano in her spare time.

Prologue (#ulink_ec2e1999-16f0-5165-a8ae-ae85226f66be)
The streets were close to empty. Even in Las Vegas most people were home in bed at three in the morning. Of course, if night owls wanted action, they could find it in Vegas at any hour.
Sergeant Tuck Hannigan, who had eleven years under his belt with the Metropolitan Police Department, was finally ready to call it a day. It had been a hell of a fifteen-hour stretch for him. Normal shifts ran ten hours, but there were some that never seemed to end.
Tuck made a right turn and spotted an around-the-clock convenience store. Remembering that he’d used the last grounds in the coffee can in his kitchen about eighteen hours ago, he pulled into the store’s brightly lighted parking lot. One other car occupied a space, a battered old blue sedan. Tuck parked beside it.
He was wearing civvies—jeans, a black T-shirt, a lightweight jacket and sneakers. His present duty required the standard police officer’s uniform, but he’d changed at the station before leaving. He was beat, getting a little bleary-eyed, but he knew he’d want coffee when he got up in the morning.
Switching off the ignition, he swung out of the car and started for the convenience store’s front door. Only a few steps from his car he realized that he couldn’t see anyone inside. The building was almost garish with lights. There were windows all along the front of it, and inside there wasn’t a person in sight.
Tuck glanced back to the old sedan and felt a spurt of adrenaline. Something was wrong. Convenience stores were notorious targets for robberies and this setup looked suspicious. He eased back toward his car and then ducked around it, intending to go to the pay phone at the side of the building. In two minutes he could run the sedan’s license plate and receive information on its owner.
All hell suddenly broke loose. The sharp pop of gunshots and a woman’s scream came from within the store. Tuck drew the weapon from the holster in the small of his back and raced for the entrance of the store. He hit the swinging door at a dead run. Two men burst from the back room, guns blazing. Tuck threw himself on the floor and fired at the same time. The men went down.
It was over in seconds. Tuck’s heart felt like it was trying to bust through the wall of his chest. He lay there, breathing hard, sweating. A woman teetered from the back room, holding her hand to her left shoulder, which was wet with blood.
Tuck struggled to his feet. The woman looked dazed. “You shot them,” she said in a hoarse, cracking voice.
He looked at the men on the floor, went over to them and checked each for a pulse. They were young, probably under twenty. One was bearded, one’s head was shaved. He sensed the woman sinking and rushed to help her. He sat her on a box and went to the phone and dialed a number.
“This is Sergeant Tuck Hannigan. Send an ambulance to…” He recited the particulars. “There are two dead and one injured. I killed two men.”
He put the phone down and realized there was blood on the front of his clothes. He looked down at it and felt the onslaught of pain. He’d been hit.
The glaring lights in the store began to blur. He sank to the floor. The last thing he remembered was the wail of sirens and the sight of the two young men, dead, lying in their own blood next to a candy display.

One (#ulink_e609cfe7-4698-5de9-ae00-7af0689f9fec)
The convenience store shootings made the headlines. Tuck was questioned until he was sick of telling the story. For three days he’d been unaware of the hoopla as he’d been in and out of consciousness in the Intensive Care Unit of Las Vegas’s Humana Hospital. But the day he was moved to the surgical recovery wing, the questions started.
Then there was the hearing. Anytime a police officer was involved in a shooting, he was put on suspension and a hearing was held so the community could assess the situation. Tuck was completely exonerated of any wrongdoing or errors in judgment. The case was clear: he had fired his weapon to protect himself and the female clerk, who’d obviously already been injured.
He had made no mistakes. Everyone told him so and he knew it himself. But it was the first time he’d had to use his service revolver against another human being, and two men had died. Two very young men.
Never mind that they had a record a mile long. Never mind that they had shot the thirty-two-year-old clerk, who had three children, a husband and a mother and father who loved and needed her. The woman was all right, thank God. She, too, had had to endure a stay in the hospital, and physically she was recovering. But she would probably never feel safe again. Tuck worked with victims organizations on occasion, and most people had a hard time getting over the trauma of physical and mental maltreatment.
Regardless that the woman was going to make it and Tuck wasn’t blamed for the shootings, he couldn’t get past the horrifying incident. He had killed two people, two men who weren’t even old enough to vote.
As was strict policy, he had to attend scheduled sessions with one of the department’s psychologists, a Laura Keaton.
Laura was a levelheaded woman, around forty-five, Tuck estimated. He liked her voice, which was low and pleasantly modulated. She talked common sense, too, none of that medical gibberish that he only just barely understood.
This was his second visit to Dr. Keaton’s office. The first had been brief; a handshake, over which she had told him to call her “Laura” and a low-key discussion of departmental routines that had put Tuck at ease.
Today was going to be different he realized when Laura said, “You were married once, Tuck. What happened?”
They were seated on comfortable furniture in a corner of her office, he on the sofa, Laura on a chair. Her brown eyes behind stylish glasses reflected nothing other than a professional interest, both in her question and whatever answer he might give her.
But he couldn’t see what his failed marriage had to do with the present situation. “That was a long time ago, Doc.”
“How long?”
He withheld a rising impatience. “I was twenty-three when I got married. It lasted three years. I’m now thirty-four.”
Laura tented her fingers and regarded the ruggedly handsome man sitting so rigidly before her. Thick dark hair. Somber gray eyes. “You were married the year you joined the force?”
She had her dates down pat. “Yes.”
Laura consulted the folder on her lap. “No children?”
The muscles in Tuck’s jaw clenched. “There was one, a boy. He died at three months of age.”
Laura raised her eyes and drew a slow breath. “I’m sorry. Tell me about it, Tuck.”
He looked away, letting his gaze drift to three filled bookcases, to a painting on the wall that depicted a harbor and a fleet of fishing boats, and finally to her desk. A framed photograph caught his attention. It was of Laura, a smiling, dark-haired man and two teenage boys; her family, obviously.
His eyes returned to Dr. Keaton. “May I smoke?”
She smiled. “I’m not going to lecture you on how bad smoking is for your cardiovascular system, Tuck. Smoke if you’d like.”
“Thanks.” He grinned slightly. “For permission and for not lecturing.”
Laura got up for an ashtray she kept in a desk drawer. She had long ago realized that some people couldn’t speak at all without smoking, and a nervous, incoherent patient was a waste of her time and his. “Are you a heavy smoker?” She sat down again.
“At times.”
“Lately?”
Tuck inhaled the first puff from his cigarette. “Yeah.” He blew out the smoke. “Timmy…that was his name…died of pneumonia. That’s what the doctors said, anyway. What he really died from was neglect.” Tuck looked at the tip of his cigarette intently. “Jeanie, my wife, wasn’t much of a mother. I was still relatively new to the department, working crazy hours, taking on any extra duty I could nail down. I didn’t even know he was sick. I went to work one day…he seemed fine…and they called me from the hospital before my shift was over. He died the next day.”
“It must have been a particularly virulent strain of pneumonia, Tuck,” Laura said softly.
“So they said, and the antibiotics they gave him made him go into convulsions. There wasn’t anything they could do.”
“But you blamed your wife.”
Tuck’s hard eyes met hers. “I still do. She left him that day with a thirteen-year-old girl from the neighborhood. She knew he was sick and she left him with a kid. At least the girl was smart enough to know she had a sick baby on her hands, ‘cause she called 9-1-1. I finally found Jeanie that night in a bar, half drunk and giggling with some joker she’d picked up.”
“And that was the end of your marriage.”
Tuck grinned cynically. “Not a pretty story, is it?”
“I’ve heard worse. What about family? Parents? Brothers and sisters?”
“My dad died when I was fifteen. My mother lives in Phoenix. She came while I was in the hospital, but she’s not very well. No brothers. One sister, who lives back east. We talk on the phone once in a while.”
“Friends? Let me rephrase that. Do you have friends outside of the department?”
“A few.”
“Anyone important?”
“If you’re fishing to find out if there’s a woman in my life, Doc, it’s been a long, dry spell.”
“Never been tempted to remarry?”
“Never,” Tuck replied emphatically.
Laura paused, then smiled. “You’re beginning to look fit, but how are you feeling physically?”
“The wounds are healing.” He’d taken two bullets, one in the chest, one in the right thigh.
“Can we talk about that night?”
Tuck snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “You’re the doctor. What do you want to know?”
“How you felt during the incident.”
Tuck laughed shortly. “I didn’t have time to feel anything.”
“All right, after it was over then. You were lucid enough to phone in and report what had happened. What were you feeling?”
“Sick.”
“In pain?”
“Not at first. All I could see were those two bodies on the floor.”
“Did you feel justified in shooting those men?”
“Justified? No, that never entered my mind.”
“What did? Think about it, Tuck. What did enter your mind?”
He swallowed the rising gorge in his throat, and when he spoke, his voice cracked. “I…don’t remember.”

Nicole Currie couldn’t sit still. The two men in her living room wore dark suits and expressions almost as dark. Nicole stopped pacing and threw up her hands. “How can you ask me to do such a thing? I have a life, a job, this house, friends. I can’t just disappear!”
John Harper and Scott Paulsen, both police officers, exchanged glances. John, who was the older by a good fifteen years, stood. “You can’t stay here, Nicole.” He’d spent enough time in Nicole’s company during the past four days to call her by her first name. “The prosecuting attorney needs time to prepare a solid case against Lowicki and Spencer. You’re our only witness.”
“I wouldn’t be your witness if I’d thought it through before reporting what I saw,” Nicole said sharply. It had seemed so cut-and-dried at the time. Two men leaving a building and getting into a car, a simple act. But the next morning she’d read in the paper about the double murder in that building, in apartment 17A. She’d gotten a good look at the men, particularly the one with the jagged scar that crimped his left cheek. The murders, the newspaper article recited, quoting Detective John Harper, had taken place at approximately 1:00 a.m. Any person with information regarding this crime should contact Detective Harper at Metro headquarters.
It was all by accident, of course. Normally, Nicole wasn’t even in that part of town, and certainly not at the ungodly hour of 1:00 a.m. But she’d attended a bridal shower for a co-worker. Nicole was the purchasing agent for the Monte Carlo Hotel and Casino, a massive operation that kept her and three assistants on their toes. On her way home from the shower, which had turned out to be a gala affair and had lasted much longer than anticipated, her car had acted up. With the motor coughing and sputtering, she had managed to pull it to the curb.
Then she’d sat there and looked at the dark street and felt fear developing. Hers was the only car on the block. To her right was vacant land, black as ink and all but invisible. The nearest streetlight was some distance away, the nearest lighted building even farther. She’d forced herself out of the car and down the sidewalk toward the building. It was an apartment house, she realized, a rather nice one, which made her feel better.
She was in the shadow of an immense bank of oleander bushes when two men came walking out the front door. It was herself she was thinking of when she sank deeper into the shadows. It simply wasn’t smart for a woman alone to show herself to two strange men at one in the morning.
They didn’t see her, she was positive. They walked to the car at the curb, a black or dark blue Lincoln with Nevada plates, got in and drove away. The only thing that gave her pause was the way the Lincoln had slowed as it passed her red Toyota.
It was the one factor that made her think that just possibly the police weren’t being too conscientious about her protection.
But disappear? They were suggesting some sort of witness protection plan, leaving Las Vegas, using an assumed name, telling no one—no one—what she was doing. What about her job? Couldn’t she at least tell her employers?
“We can’t risk telling anyone, Nicole,” John Harper said solemnly. “Not at this point. Call your employer with a story of a family emergency. Tell them you have to leave immediately and will be in touch. We’d like you to pack and be ready to leave by tonight. Scott will stay here in the house with you until then.”
Nicole tossed her head back, as though to twitch long hair away from her face. Her nearly black hair had been long until a week ago when she’d gone to her favorite hairdresser for a cut and new style.
“I could be fired,” she said despondently. “It’s taken me years to work up to my present position.”
“A job’s not as valuable as your life,” Scott said quietly.
“Nicole,” John said, “the minute it’s safe to do so, I’ll talk to your employers myself.”
“But you said it could take months. The Monte Carlo cannot function without a purchasing agent for months.” Nicole was sick about this and couldn’t pretend otherwise.
The older man sighed. “I know it can’t.”
Nicole felt a shiver go up her spine. There were other aspects of the situation that scared her witless. “I’ll be completely alone in a strange place. You two might not understand this, but the idea of living where I won’t know a soul is terrifying. I was born and raised in Las Vegas. I’ve never lived anywhere else.”
“You won’t be alone,” John said softly.
Nicole’s left eyebrow shot up. “I won’t? Who would be going with me?”
“We’re working that out, but he’ll be a police officer.”
“He? Why not a woman?”
“It might be a woman. Nothing’s set yet. Don’t worry. Whoever picks you up tonight will be well qualified to protect you.”
Rubbing her arms as though chilled, Nicole went to look out the window. “This is a nightmare.”
John was instantly at her side and pulling her back. “Please. Don’t go near the windows.”
Nicole gave up. Her legs were weak, her stomach churning. The thought of leaving everything familiar was horrible. It wasn’t fair that only doing what she’d felt was any citizen’s duty should result in this. But if she took a stand and refused, what then? The men she’d seen had, according to the police, already killed two people. Would killing one more bother them? Especially if that person’s testimony could convict them of murder?
“I’ll be ready tonight,” she said numbly. “Can you tell me where I’ll be going?”
John shook his head with a sympathetic smile. “Sorry. I don’t know that myself.”

“Well, Tuck,” Captain Joe Crawford said when Tuck walked into his office. “How’re you doing? Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”
“Thanks.” Tuck took a seat.
“Feeling all right?”
“Not bad. I got a call to come in and see you.” When Tuck had started out with the department, Joe Crawford had been his sergeant. They had eleven years of common ground and a good, solid relationship. “What’s going on, Joe?”
“Your suspension’s been lifted.”
Tuck nodded. “That’s good.” It was a lie. He wasn’t ready to go back to work and wasn’t sure if he ever would be. “Joe, I’ve been thinking about taking my accumulated vacation time and sick leave. It adds up to about six weeks.”
Joe regarded him across the wide desk between them. “Need a little more time off, eh? Well, that’s not a bad idea, Tuck. You had a rough go of it. Went through it myself once.”
“Yeah, I know.” Tuck leaned forward. “Joe, how long was it before you got over it?”
Joe sucked in a long, thoughtful breath. “Not sure I ever did. But it does get easier, Tuck.”
Tuck hoped so. He wasn’t sleeping well, or eating much. Those were a couple of facts he’d neglected to mention to Dr. Keaton.
There was a lengthy silence. Tuck lit a cigarette. “Is it okay, then, to use my vacation and sick time?”
“Sure, no problem. By the way, if all you want to do is get out of town for a while, there’s a real cushy job available.”
“What is it?”
“Protecting the witness who can place Nick Lowicki at the exact site of the Buckley murders.”
Tuck’s eyes narrowed. “There’s a witness?”
“A reliable one. An upstanding citizen, Tuck, clean as a whistle.”
“Does Lowicki know?”
“We’re not sure. He didn’t do it alone, Tuck. We think the other man the witness saw was Gil Spencer. Anyway, the witness’s car was parked on the street in plain sight, and Spencer and Lowicki might be lowlifes, but they’re not completely stupid.”
Tuck turned his head and laughed sardonically. “Thought you mentioned a cushy job. Better get my hearing checked.”
Joe leaned forward. “Tuck, it will be cushy. We’re moving the witness to…well, I’ll tell you that if you get involved, but I guarantee you’d like the place. Look, all you’d have to do is keep the witness company. We’re really keeping the lid tight on this one. Only a few of our top people even know there is a witness, even fewer know what we’re planning to do. What do you say? It would be like a vacation with pay, and you wouldn’t use up your accumulated days. Afterward, if you still need more time away from the job, you can take it.”
“Why me?”
Joe cleared his throat while sitting back. “Because you’ve got a perfect excuse to disappear for an extended leave.” Joe hesitated before adding, “And you’re unencumbered, Tuck. There’s no one at home to ask questions.”
It wasn’t at all what he’d thought he might do with his free time. Actually, he didn’t know what he might do, but he sure hadn’t thought of anything like this.
“Can I think about it, Joe?”
Joe shook his head. “There’s no time. The witness will be ready to leave tonight.”
Tuck butted his cigarette, got up and went to a window. He stared out and absently watched traffic. “Can you tell me anything about it?”
“Not unless you agree. No one’s going to know anything unless they’re involved up to their eyeballs. We’re going to nail Lowicki this time, Tuck, but we don’t have a positive ID on the other guy. We need time to box him in, to prove that he was with Lowicki at 1:00 a.m. that night. The prosecutor’s office wants an airtight case before we haul them in. That’s what we’ll work on while you—or someone like you—takes care of the witness.”
Tuck mulled it over. Nick Lowicki was a snake. A drug dealer, a pimp, the sort of man the law enforcement community referred to as street scum. He’d made a bad mistake and there was a witness who could positively finger him. If the D.A. could build a case and put Gil Spencer away at the same time, the streets would be just a little bit cleaner.
“Well, guess I don’t have anything better to do,” Tuck said quietly.
“Then you’ll do it?”
Tuck turned. “I’ll do it. Now, can you fill me in?”
“Tonight, Tuck. Just before you leave. Meet me back here at nine this evening. Have your things with you. I’ll give you a car and some money. You’ll pick up the witness and be out of town before ten.”

Captain Joe Crawford didn’t just hand over a car and some cash that night, he had a whole new ID prepared for Tuck, a driver’s license, a social security card, and a couple of credit cards. “The credit cards are strictly for show, Tuck. Don’t want you using them and leaving any kind of trail. There’s enough cash here to last you for several weeks, and there’ll be more available if you need it.”
Tuck studied the handful of cards. “So, my name’s going to be Tom King.”
“Nice simple name, Tuck. That’s how we’re going to introduce you to the witness, as Tom King. No need for her to know your real name. She’s no pro at this sort of thing and might make a slip at the wrong time.”
Tuck regarded his captain. “The witness is a woman? How old is she?”
Joe Crawford cleared his throat. “I don’t know, maybe thirty, thirty-one.”
“She’s not married?”
“No. Now, Tuck, don’t get that bullheaded look on your face. What difference does it make? You’d be doing the same job if the witness was a sixty-year-old man.”
“It never occurred to me we were talking about a woman, a young woman.” Tuck shook his head disgustedly. “Tell me she’s buck-toothed, stringy-haired and ugly.”
Joe laughed. “Can’t do that. She’s a pretty woman.”
“Aw, hell,” Tuck muttered.
An hour later, briefed on his destination in great detail and as ready to go as he’d ever be, Tuck and John Harper got into the assigned car, with John at the wheel. Tuck hadn’t asked the woman’s real name. Joe had told him that her assumed name was Cheryl King, and then quickly added, “The two of you can decide what kind of arrangement you’d be most comfortable with. You could be sister and brother, if that makes you happy. Personally, I like the idea of a couple, a husband and wife.”
“Dammit, Joe, you set me up!”
Joe had smiled blandly. “You’ll enjoy yourself in Idaho, Tuck. Coeur d’Alene’s a beautiful little city.”
While John Harper drove to the woman’s home, Tuck glared out the side window. If Joe Crawford had even hinted at the witness’s sex and age, Tuck would have refused the job with gusto. He didn’t want to spend the next month, or whatever it took, with a woman.
John pulled into a driveway. “Well, here we are, Tuck.”
Tuck didn’t immediately jump out. “I don’t like this, Harper. I don’t like it one damn bit!”
John shrugged, as if to say, Tough, Tuck! You took the job, you live with it. But then the older man relented and smiled. “She’s a nice woman, Tuck. You’ll like her.”
“Like hell I will,” he muttered as he got out of the car.
Inside, Nicole was back to pacing. Scott Paulsen answered the back door, and Nicole stayed in the living room. She was dressed for a long ride, wearing old jeans, faded and soft from a hundred washings, a plain, blue T-shirt and sneakers. She was pale and biting the thumbnail on her left hand, a habit she abhorred and thought she’d cured herself of more than a dozen years ago.
Scott, John, and a third man walked in. Nicole’s anxious blue eyes went instantly to the stranger. John made the introductions. “Cheryl, this is Tom.”
“Hello,” Nicole mumbled. Tom was stiff and unsmiling. Tall, well-built, wearing jeans that rivaled her own for age and comfort. Inscrutable gray eyes.
“Hello,” Tuck said tonelessly, refusing to acknowledge Cheryl’s pretty face and long legs. Two large and two small suitcases sat near the sofa. “I’ll get these loaded.” Scott moved to help and between them they carried all four cases out to the car.
Nicole looked around her living room. Crying would do nothing beyond reddening her eyes, but she felt like busting loose with a wounded wail. Instead she began snapping off lamps. The house was already locked and as secure as it could get.
“Well…guess I’m ready,” she said listlessly.
John Harper offered a consoling smile. “Nicole, this will all be over in no time. You’ll see.”
She wasn’t consoled. Weeks—maybe months—away from her home and job didn’t seem like “no time” to her.
John pulled an envelope out of his inside coat pocket. “Scott filled you in on destination and identity. Tom’s been given most of the money, but we thought you should have some, too, just in case.”
Nicole took the envelope. “In case of what, John? Tom’s trustworthy, isn’t he?”
“He’s the best there is, Nicole. Don’t worry about that. He’s got eleven years with the department and has experience in every phase of law enforcement.”
“Tom’s not his real name.”
“No.”
Looking around one last time, Nicole sighed. “Come on,” John said gently. “You’ve got a long trip ahead of you.”
“One more question, John. Why are we driving to Idaho, rather than flying?”
“Everyone thought it would be best, Nicole. We’re keeping your departure as low-key as possible. There’s very little way of telling if some stranger follows you onto a plane, but driving north out of Vegas, the road is long and empty. Tom will know if anyone’s behind you.”
Nicole left several lights burning in the house, at John’s suggestion. They went through the back door and Nicole locked the dead bolt. She was carrying her purse, into which she’d tucked the envelope of cash. Her suitcases were jammed with clothes of every description. No one knew how long she’d have to stay away, and that was probably the hardest part of this whole discomfiting ordeal. At John Harper’s instruction she’d written a dozen cards to friends, all with the same carefully worded message. Family emergency calls me away. Don’t worry. I’ll be in touch. Hopefully the simple message would forestall someone panicking and raising a public fuss because they couldn’t reach her.
Tuck was leaning against the car. He straightened as Nicole and John approached. “All set?”
“All set,” John said quietly.
“Who’s driving?” Nicole questioned.
“I am,” Tuck said flatly.
Nicole got in the passenger side, Tuck got behind the wheel. John leaned down to peer through the open window. “Take care.”
“Yeah,” Tuck drawled, and started the motor.
Nicole fastened her seatbelt. The car backed out of her driveway without lights. They were two blocks away from her house before Tuck switched on the headlights. Nicole was battling tears and looking straight ahead.
Tuck took a maze of back streets to reach Highway 95. The fuel gauge indicated a full tank of gas. They wouldn’t have to make a stop for hours. He glanced at the woman sitting so silently and registered her rigid profile.
Her silence was welcome. He turned his attention back to the road.

Two (#ulink_42e86832-f9c0-5cc8-b136-972539e08587)
Once out of Vegas the road became black and almost eerily vacant. Highway 95 was an important link between Las Vegas and Reno, but away from those two cities, Nevada’s roads were sparsely traveled. Ten, fifteen minutes would pass between oncoming cars. There were none behind him, Tuck was certain. None with headlights at least.
He eyed his silent companion. “Mind if I turn on the radio?”
Nicole’s head barely moved in a brief glance. “Go ahead.”
Tuck turned on the power, drove with one hand and fiddled with the radio with the other, trying to pick up a station. After a few minutes he gave up. “There’s nothing but static.” The car was an inexpensive blue sedan, and apparently the radio was a weakly powered model.
Driving the dark road, Tuck’s thoughts turned to his last session with Dr. Keaton. I’m not going to preach to you, Tuck. You’re going to have to deal with your conscience in your own way. You did nothing wrong, and that’s what you must come to accept. He had answered, I did nothing illegal, Doc. She had slowly nodded her understanding.
He understood, too, which relieved none of the tension in his gut. What else could he ever be but a cop? And yet he couldn’t see himself back on the street and dealing with the myriad problems he’d previously faced so confidently.
This trip, this witness protection job, was eating at him. He shouldn’t have let Joe talk him into it. He didn’t want to protect anyone. He wasn’t wearing his gun, although he had it with him, tucked under his seat on the floor of the car. Joe had described the job as “cushy,” and maybe it would be. He’d been to northern Idaho once before and liked what he’d seen. Certainly it was different from southern Nevada, with lush, green-forested mountains and numerous lakes. Beautiful scenery, unquestionably. And the chance of Lowicki and Spencer tracking Cheryl so far north, once they discovered there was a witness who could unequivocally tie them to the murders, was slim to none.
But spending weeks with a woman he didn’t know, nor had any desire to know, was damn disturbing. He really hadn’t thought about the witness’s gender when Joe first brought up the subject, assuming, obviously, that they were talking about a man.
Well, there was nothing manly about “Cheryl King.” She was pure woman, every inch of her, and some exotic scent wafted his way every time she moved.
She wasn’t moving very much, he had to admit. It was as though her gaze was glued to the windshield. In the dash lights, her silhouette was board-stiff.
Tuck sent her a more open glance. “You don’t like this, do you?”
Nicole started, as though coming awake. “Pardon?”
“This whole setup. You don’t like it.”
She looked at the man behind the wheel. “No, I don’t like it.” She studied Tom for another moment, then returned her eyes to the road. “Have you done this before?”
“Not exactly,” he admitted.
“Scott said you have experience in all phases of law enforcement.”
“I’ve gone undercover before, just not to this extent. Doubt if too many people have gone to this extent,” he added dryly.
“I keep wondering if it’s really necessary,” Nicole said with some bitterness. “I’m probably going to lose my job over it.”
Tuck sent her another glance. “What do you do?”
“I’m the purchasing agent for the Monte Carlo.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Well, don’t be. I’ll probably have to start over as a clerk.”
Tuck’s lips tightened. He could lay all sorts of lies on her, but the fact was that right now no one could predict the outcome of this case.
“What I don’t understand,” Nicole said in that same bitter tone, “is why they’re sending me so far away. Why not L.A.? Or Phoenix? At least we wouldn’t have to drive for days.”
“We’ll be there before tomorrow night,” Tuck answered.
“Meaning you’re planning to drive straight through. Great,” Nicole said disgustedly. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do for twenty-four hours than ride, ride, ride.”
Tuck sent her a cold glance. “You probably have a right to gripe, but I don’t want to hear it. Complaining isn’t going to do one damn bit of good. And it won’t take twenty-four hours. Something under twenty is more like it.”
Nicole sat up straighter and gave this unsympathetic, incompassionate jerk a really good look. At the house she’d been so harried and confused she had barely acknowledged their introduction and only vaguely registered his appearance. Staring hard in the faint light from the dash dials, she saw a profile that looked cut from granite, with just about the same amount of warmth.
She’d had her fill of officious, overbearing behavior. From the moment she had made that call to Detective Harper about what she’d seen the night of the Buckley murders, someone had been breathing down her neck, telling her what she could and couldn’t do, mercilessly replanning her life—frightening her away from windows, for God’s sake—praising her courage one minute and in the next acting as though she hadn’t a brain in her head or wouldn’t know how to use it if she did.
“If you don’t like complaining, you’re the wrong man for this job,” she said with all of the anger she’d been feeling for days now, anger that she had repressed with great effort. “I will complain about anything and everything that rubs me wrong, Tom King, or whatever your name is, and I don’t particularly give a damn how you take it. I’m not here because I want to be and…”
“And you think I am?” Tuck shouted suddenly. “Well, think again!”
They fell silent, each of them startled by how quickly and fiercely their anger had flared. But though Nicole became slightly calmer, defiance was running through her veins, hot and heavy.
“If you didn’t want this job, why did you take it?” she questioned acidly. “Or was it forced on you?”
Tuck smirked. “There’s all kinds of force, lady. All kinds.”
“And I’m sure you know them all,” Nicole drawled with exaggerated sarcasm.
“Because I’m a cop?” Tuck laughed humorlessly. “I’m surprised a solid citizen like yourself would make disparaging remarks about cops.”
“I was speaking of only one cop, Mr. King. And while we’re being so nice and friendly with each other, let’s stop one portion of this ridiculous charade. My name is Nicole Currie, and I will not answer to Cheryl.”
Tuck muttered a curse. “I’ve got a damned good notion to turn this car around and drop you off on Joe Crawford’s doorstep.”
Nicole’s chin came up. “Why don’t you do that, Officer King? I’m sure Captain Crawford would welcome us both.” Her voice became less strident. “Tell me your real name. I can’t stand this cloak-and-dagger idiocy. For this thing to work, we’re going to have to trust each other. I’ve trusted you with my real name, and I would appreciate the same courtesy from you.”
Tuck drove on, saying nothing for a long time. Nicole finally turned away with a long-suffering sigh. “This is going to be a miserable experience, and I pray to God our association is extremely short-lived,” she said wearily.
Several miles went by. “It’s Tuck,” he said low and tensely. “Tuck Hannigan. In front of anyone else, we’re Cheryl and Tom King, understand?”
Nicole’s head slowly came around. “Understood, and thank you. Do you know that because of that small piece of information I have more confidence in you?”
He was waiting for his name to sink in. If she’d read the papers or watched the evening news on television six weeks back, she had to have heard it. As for her having more confidence in him, he couldn’t care less. The one thing that wasn’t going to happen during this job was the two of them getting chummy. He had enough problems of his own to sort through without adding the complication of a personal relationship. He’d just as soon keep this whole thing as impersonal as possible.
However, there was one aspect of this fiasco that needed discussion. He spoke tonelessly. “We’re going to be posing as Tom and Cheryl King. What we have to decide is how we happen to have the same last name.” Nicole turned her head to watch him. “There are several options. I’m sure you can figure out what they are.”
Nicole cleared her throat. “Uh, how about brother and sister?”
“That might work. So could pretending to be cousins. But if we’re both supposedly single people, we might draw some unwanted attention.”
“You mean, like a woman getting interested in you.”
“Or a man thinking he’d like to know you better. We’re going to avoid people as much as possible, but my professional opinion is that we would be less noticeable as a married couple.”
Nicole started chewing on her poor thumbnail again. Posing as this man’s wife would entail what? “Um…how far would we have to go to prove our marital status?” she asked uneasily.
He sent her a disgusted look. “We won’t be sharing the same bed, if that’s what you’re thinking, so relax. This is strictly a job to me, strictly business.” He drew a breath and retracted some of his anger. “Look, in front of other people we’ll have to act as though we know and like each other. That’s as far as it’ll ever have to go. Understand?”
“Yes,” she said quietly, though her nervous system was anything but calm. She leaned her head against the cool window of the door. God, how had she gotten herself into this unholy mess? She had never, ever had anything to do with police officers and the law; there’d never been any reason. She’d never even been to court for a traffic ticket, and now she was going to have to appear as a witness in what would probably be a sensational murder trial. Her own life was in danger, just for being a good citizen.
Tears stung her eyes and nose, and she lifted her head away from the window to go into her purse for some tissues.
Tuck caught on that she was crying and trying to keep it quiet. Keeping his eyes on the road, he pretended not to notice. Still, he felt some sympathy for Nicole Currie. The population seemed to be divided, one portion committing the crimes, the other attempting to lead a good and decent life. When those two segments overlapped in any way, there was always trouble. Nicole hadn’t asked for trouble; she had merely stumbled into it. But if the decent side of society never got involved, the crime rate would rise at an even more rapid rate than it was doing in every city and town across the country. The police needed people like her, folks who called in to report odd or unusual occurrences. Many a criminal had been brought down because of a simple telephone call from a conscientious citizen.
Of course, few were asked to give up weeks of their life as Nicole was doing. Yeah, he felt sorry for her, but what good would saying so do? She had her self-pity, he had his..
His mouth thinned. Was that what was causing the constant ache in his gut, self-pity? Was self-pity the same as regret? Remorse? And why should he feel any remorse? He had undoubtedly saved the life of that convenience store clerk.
Tense again, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Nicole gave him a look. “Must you smoke?”
His answer was to roll down his window about six inches.
She turned her head in disgust. Tuck Hannigan might be a good cop, but he was not a nice guy. Pity his wife or girlfriend, she thought. If he had one.
For some reason his name began tweaking her memory. Tuck Hannigan…Tuck Hannigan. She’d heard it before, but how? Where?
And then it came to her. Sergeant Tucker Hannigan had been in the news for killing two men in a convenience store holdup! She sent him a furtive glance, wondering how he felt about that, wondering, too, if he did have a wife and maybe kids. When he wasn’t on duty, was he a nicer person? Did he laugh and converse and do ordinary things for fun?
It was hard to imagine him smiling and relaxed. He was the most rigidly controlled person she’d ever met. He’d said this was just another job to him, so how did he view her? Probably as a nuisance, she thought resentfully. Certainly he wasn’t treating her as a living, breathing woman with a personality and a brain.
To hell with him. Feeling around for levers down at the right of her seat, she was relieved to find one that released the seat back. It fell back suddenly, causing Tuck’s head to jerk around. “What’re you doing?”
“Getting comfortable,” she retorted, lying back and closing her eyes. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since the onset of this fiasco, and every cell in her body ached with exhaustion. She was asleep in seconds.
Tuck drove through the black night thinking and smoking. Sometimes he only smoked and watched the road. Catching sight of a pair of headlights in the rearview mirror, he slowed down. The vehicle was moving fast, and it soon caught up with him and then passed him doing at least eighty. It was a white sports car and he jotted down the license plate number when it was visible in his own headlights.
The road was monotonous. He passed through the towns of Beatty, Scotty’s Junction and Goldfield, and finally approached Tonopah, which was a good two hundred miles out of Vegas. Needing gas, he pulled into a brightly lighted truck stop.
Nicole sat up. “Where are we?”
“Tonopah. I’m getting gas. If you need to use the facilities, do it now.”
“What time is it?”
“Around two.”
“I’m hungry.”
Tuck looked around. There were half a dozen eighteenwheelers parked with their motors idling, two more at the diesel pumps, and a smattering of cars and pickups parked near the restaurant. No sign of the white sports car.
“Get something to go,” he said brusquely. “Do you have money?”
“Yes. Would you like something to eat?”
“Coffee will do. Black, no sugar. Make it a large. And don’t waste time.”
They got out and went inside, Tuck to the gas attendant to pay in advance for the gas, and Nicole to the ladies’ room. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt depressed. Tired, dejected eyes looked back at her.
Dampening a paper towel-with cold water, she held it to her eyes for a few minutes. Then, remembering Tuck’s domineering “don’t waste time,” she used the commode, washed her hands and hurried to the restaurant. Sitting at the counter, she put in her order with a weary-looking waitress.
Tuck had the car gassed and the motor idling when she came out with two bags. He drove away the second she was in the car, irritating her, though she said nothing about it and dug into the sacks.
“Here’s your coffee.” She held out a large foam cup. “I also bought an extra hamburger, in case you might want one.”
“Maybe I’ll eat it later. Just leave it on the seat.”
No “Thanks.” No sign of gratitude for her thoughtfulness. Nicole’s mouth tightened. “You’re welcome, Officer Hannigan,” she said with piercing sarcasm.
He shot her a dark look. “I only asked for coffee. But if it’s so important to you, thank you very much.”
He’d spoken sarcastically, too. Nicole had to forcibly stop herself from continuing the impolite conversation, which could only get worse. They should at least try to get along.
Unwrapping her hamburger, she took a bite and found it to be exceptionally good. So was the coffee.
The sedan sped through the night on the dark and lonely road.
“John Harper said we would be staying in Coeur d’Alene.” Nicole said, breaking the silence in the car.
“Not in Coeur d’Alene. Near Coeur d’Alene.” Tuck took a swallow of his coffee.
“Near? What does that mean?”
“We’ll be staying in a cabin on the lake. Coeur d’Alene Lake.”
“Oh, there’s a lake.”
“A very beautiful lake. Northern Idaho has a lot of beautiful lakes. The whole area is beautiful.”
“Then you’ve been there before?”
“Once…a few years back.”
Nicole finished her hamburger and wadded up the wrapping. “Who owns the cabin?”
“A close friend of a high-ranking police officer. A friend of my captain, as a matter of fact. The guy who talked me into taking this job.”
His cynical tone raised Nicole’s hackles. “Sorry to be such a burden, but this certainly wasn’t my idea,” she snapped.
No, it wasn’t her idea, and Tuck felt another spurt of sympathy, which he again kept to himself. Nicole Currie might deserve sympathy, but she didn’t need to hear it from him. Before this was over she’d either be a lot tougher than she was now, or she would crumble. He hoped it would be the first.
At Tonopah, Tuck had decided to cut east across Nevada and join up with Highway 93, thereby avoiding the traffic around the Reno and Carson City area. He said nothing to Nicole about it, because he could tell that while she stared almost constantly at the road, it wasn’t because she was interested in or even aware of her surroundings. Her worried thoughts were directed toward herself, which he probably understood better than most people would have. It was almost as though they had something in common, which wasn’t true when their troubling recent experiences were so diverse. But they both had problems to deal with, and that did seem to give them a little common ground.
The term “common ground” gave Tuck pause. He glanced at his passenger. “We should probably get some sort of story put together for our background.” Absently then, keeping one eye on the road, he reached for the hamburger on the seat.
Nicole turned slightly to see him. “Such as?”
“Where we’re from, where we met, do we have any family, that sort of thing.”
“Oh. Do you think people will ask?”
“Not if I can help it, but it wouldn’t do for you to answer a question about our common past one way and me answer it another. We really are going to try to avoid people, but we should be prepared, just in case.”
“Fine,” she said listlessly. “Tell me what to say. Frankly, my own imagination isn’t functioning on high at the present.”
“Well…let’s make us both orphans. Parents dead, each of us being an only child. Um, let’s say we met back east, got married, lived in Nevada for a while and decided to try Idaho. That would explain the Nevada plates on this car.”
“Where back east?”
“Ever been in the east?”
“Only between flights when I vacationed in Europe. But I’ve been in Texas, the Abilene area.”
“That’ll work. I’ve been there, too. Forget the east, and tell people, if they’re nosy enough to ask, that we met in Abilene.”
After passing through the small town of Warm Springs, there was a long stretch of vacant road through Railroad Valley. Tuck hadn’t seen a car in a good half hour when his own began acting up.
Nicole noticed the sputtering of the engine. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t know. Maybe the fuel line.” Scowling, Tuck pumped on the accelerator and the engine evened out. A breakdown out here wouldn’t be funny. The next town of any size was Ely, still more than a hundred miles away. He might come upon a service station before Ely, but on this road in the middle of the night there wasn’t much chance of a mechanic hanging around hoping for a customer.
Every few minutes the engine sputtered and coughed again. Nicole had started listening for it and Tuck was getting a little more tense each time it happened.
“What if it stops running out here?” Nicole said worriedly. There wasn’t another car in sight, not even a distant light signifying human habitation.
Tuck’s jaw was clenched. “Just pray it doesn’t,” he muttered. He had the feeling the damned engine was going to die any second, and he wished he had stayed on Highway 95, which had more towns and traffic than this road.
Then he squinted at the lights he saw ahead. “There’s something coming up,” he said. Since there wasn’t a town marked on his map, he figured it might be a ranch. To his surprise, it was a gas station and a small motel. The gas station was closed for the night, and he supposed so was the motel. But they each bore lights on tall poles, the name of the motel spelled out in neon.
He pulled the bucking car into the parking area of the buildings. Nicole frowned at the dark and silent service station. “I don’t think you’re going to get any help at this place.”
“Not till morning,” Tuck said. “Wait here.” Getting out, leaving the engine idling—wheezingly—he stalked to the door of the motel office.
In the car Nicole sighed and laid her head back against the seat. Things just kept getting worse. Not more than a week ago she was a reasonably happy woman with a challenging job, some good friends, and a home she liked and enjoyed. Now here she was in the middle of nowhere, in a pitch-black night, running from killers, with a man she neither knew nor liked, and with a broken-down car in the bargain.
Tuck read the small sign above a button. Ring Buzzer For Late Night Service. He looked around. The motel had about seven units and there were only three cars parked in front of three doors. He pushed on the button.
Almost at once he heard movement from inside. The office lights flashed on, then a sleepy-eyed, middle-aged man in an undershirt and a pair of dark pants with suspenders opened the door.
“I need a room,” Tuck said flatly.
“Come in.” The man left the door hanging open and walked around a counter. He shoved a card and a pen at Tuck. “Fill it out.”
Tuck picked up the pen. “Do you have a room with two beds?”
“The only room I have left has one bed. But it’s queen-size.”
“Okay.” Tuck filled in the blanks and laid down the pen.
The man handed him a key. “Room number six. That’ll be forty dollars.”
“Forty?” Seemed pretty high for a squalid little motel like this.
“Forty,” the man confirmed.
Tuck dug out two twenties and handed them over. “What time does the gas station open in the morning?”
“Around eight.”
“Do they have a mechanic?”
“Not regular. But they got a guy on call.”
“What about food? Is there a café or something nearby?”
“Just across the road.”
Tuck glanced out the door and saw a squat little structure without lights. “Thanks.”
Carrying the key, he walked outside. The office lights immediately went off behind him. He headed for the car and got in.
“Got a room for the rest of the night,” he said while driving toward room number six.
Nicole gave him a startled look. “One room?”
“We’re married, remember?” he said dryly.
“I hope it has two beds.”
“It doesn’t.”
She stiffened. “Well, where are you going to sleep?”
He shot her a dirty look and pulled the car to a stop. “Bring in only what you have to.”
Opening the trunk of the car, he hauled out the smallest of his suitcases. “Which one of yours do you want?”
“I’ll get it myself,” Nicole answered sullenly.
Tuck shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Together, each with a small suitcase, they walked to the door of room number six. Tuck inserted the key and unlocked the door, then pushed it open and felt around for a light switch.
The room was plain and drab but appeared to be clean. As the man had said, it had a queen-size bed. Tuck set down his suitcase. “In case you’re interested, the gas station opens at eight. They have a mechanic on call, so with any luck at all we should be rolling again before noon. In the meantime, get some sleep.”
Nicole was staring at the bed. One bed. “I am not sharing a bed with you,” she said frostily.
“Then sleep in the damn chair.” Tuck yanked off the bedspread, rolled it into a tube and placed it down the center of the bed. “I get the side facing the door. Use the other, if you want. Believe me, lady, your chastity is in no danger from me. Even if I was so inclined, which I’m not, I’m too damn tired to do anything about it.” He disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Three (#ulink_7c2b96bd-d1c1-5a5d-82e8-2557f61ef9af)
Nicole stood there tired and drained. Sharing a motel room with a man she had met no more than five hours ago was affronting, even if he had rather cleverly devised a barrier down the middle of the bed. Setting her suitcase on the floor, she went to a chair and wearily sat down. Tears were very close, burning her eyes and throat and making her head feel tight and achy. The room, though plain and outdated, seemed clean enough, except for the carpet, which was dingy from age and hard usage.
What was she doing here? The question hit her benumbed brain without mercy. She should be home, in her own bed. She thought of all the postcards and notes she had written to her friends, and her lips clamped together in a thin line. Some of them would accept her brief message without question, but there were a few who might have a lot of questions. For one thing, the only close family she had was her mother, who lived in Florida. There were a handful of aunts, uncles and cousins scattered across the country, but Nicole’s nearest and dearest friends knew that she didn’t stay in touch with her distant relatives. “Family emergency” was a pretty vague message and apt to raise more questions than it answered.
As for her mother, Nicole had ignored John Harper’s orders and written Jane Currie a letter. She’d tried to make it one of her normal letters, with only a few lies about a business trip for the Monte Carlo, knowing that a postcard with a ridiculous message would only alarm the older woman. The letter would buy her some time with her mother, Nicole felt, and maybe this mess would come to a head before Jane did become alarmed.
The bathroom door swung open and Tuck walked out. Seeing Nicole in a forlorn heap on the chair, he squared his shoulders to forestall another bout of sympathy.
“I’m going outside for a minute.”
Her eyes lifted to his and for a moment, the first time really, their gazes connected. A peculiar tingling traveled Nicole’s spine, a discomfiting sensation. Turning her head, she nodded. He walked past her and out the door.
Sighing despondently, she got to her feet, picked up her case and went into the bathroom.
Tuck unscrewed the bulb in the light fixture next to the door, then stood in the dark and scanned the area. Everything was silent and he felt none of the wariness he normally did when faced with danger.
Going to the car, he quietly opened the driver’s door, got his gun from under the seat, locked the car and returned to tighten the bulb before entering the motel room. There was a dead bolt and a chain on the door, and he used both. Then, placing his holstered gun—and his pack of cigarettes—on the nightstand, he kicked off his boots and stretched out on top of the blanket on his side of the bed. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes. He was tired through and through, and a few hours of sleep seemed like a gift.
Turning on his side, with his back to the tube of bedspread, he shut his eyes.
Nicole opened the bathroom door and turned off the light at the same time. The lights were still on in the bedroom and Officer Hannigan was already in bed. Or rather, he was on the bed, his back to her, fully clothed except for his boots.
Her gaze went from the chair to the vacant side of the bed, back and forth several times. It was no contest, she finally decided. She had to lie down and if Hannigan could sleep in his clothes, she could damn well sleep in hers.
“Turn off the lights.”
“Oh! I thought you were sleeping.” Nicole went to the light switch by the door and flipped it off. The room was instantly pitch-black, and she had to feel her way to her side of the bed.
But once there and lying down, she heaved a sigh of pleasure. She had worried about falling asleep, but she was dead to the world in three minutes.

Only half-awake, Tuck reached for a cigarette. Then he remembered who was sleeping on the other side of that mound of bedspread and pulled his hand back. Sitting up, he put his feet on the floor and checked his watch: 7:15 a.m. Standing, he headed for the bathroom and a shower.
Nicole began to stir. The shower was running. Suddenly recalling where she was, her eyes jerked opened and she sat up. Hannigan’s side of the bed was vacant. Then she spotted the gun on the nightstand. Gnawing at her bottom lip, she stared at the black leather holster and the weapon. She hated guns and was on the political side of much stricter gun control.
But Hannigan was a cop, and cops had to carry weapons.
Tom King…Tuck Hannigan. And she was supposed to be Cheryl King, his wife. God, had ever a more mismatched couple run into each other? He was rude, cold, and had the compassion and sense of humor of a rock. She had never liked people of his ilk, much preferring those who laughed at silly jokes and themselves. Hannigan was so uptight he probably never smiled let alone laughed.
Getting off the bed, Nicole walked over to the window, opened the short drapes a crack and peered out. The sun was bright, making the morning air glisten. Across the street was a wood-sided building with a simple, painted sign: Café. She smiled. The no-name café was a welcome sight. A cup of good, hot coffee was exactly what she needed.
Tuck came out of the bathroom. “Get away from the window.”
Nicole whirled around. “I only had the curtains open a crack.” She registered his damp hair, shiny jaw and clean shirt. It dawned on her then that he was unusually good-looking. Tall and long-legged, with a lean but muscular build, and a handsome, brooding face. Her lips pursed because she didn’t want to think him good-looking. He wasn’t just a man, he was her protector, and a damned rude one, to boot.
Tuck set down his suitcase. “I’m going over to that café and get us some breakfast. What would you like?”
“Why can’t I go?”
“Because you can’t. What do you want to eat?”
“Must you be so rude?”
“Rude?” He looked away for a moment then returned harder eyes to her. “This isn’t a game, lady, and the sooner you get that through your head, the better we’ll get along.”
“We’ll get along only if I jump to your commands.”
He sized her up with a flinty-eyed stare. “That’s about it. Now, tell me what you want for breakfast.”
She wanted to say, “Go to hell!” but she had the feeling that he’d go across the street, fill his own stomach and to heck with hers.
“Coffee and…toast.”
“That’s all?”
“Orange juice.”
Tuck shrugged. “You got it. Lock the door behind me, and stay away from the window.” Out he went.
Obediently, though angry enough to spit, Nicole threw the dead bolt and hooked the chain. “Jerk,” she mumbled, taking up her suitcase and heading for the bathroom.

They were on the road again by ten. To Nicole’s intense annoyance, Hannigan had made her stay in the motel unitlocked in, and away from the window, of course—while he saw to the car’s repair. Fortunately the problem was easy to fix, though to be honest Nicole wasn’t interested enough in what it had been to ask. Her mood was growing blacker by the hour, and what really bugged her was that Officer Hannigan didn’t even seem to notice. Was she invisible, or what?
The miles of central Nevada sped past, miles in which Tuck said not a word. Finally, Nicole could take no more.
“Are you always this nice?” she asked in an acid tone.
“What?” His eyes left the road to send her a frowning look.
“I said, are you always this nice?”
He looked at the road again. “I’m not here to entertain or amuse you.”
She put on a exaggeratedly surprised expression. “No kidding! Boy, you sure could have fooled me.”
“What do you want?”
“What do I want? Well, let me see. I want this car going in the opposite direction. I want to be at my desk instead of heading north. I want…”
“I didn’t put you in this situation.”
“Neither did I, dammit! Not intentionally,” she added, so frustrated and furious she marveled that steam wasn’t rolling out of her ears. “Why did they pick you for this job?”
“Meaning, you’d rather have someone else? How do you know? Maybe I’m the nicest guy on the force.”
“Oh, please.”
Tuck shook his head, plainly displaying disgust. “I’m not going to argue with you. Save your gripes for someone else.”
“If I ever see anything else suspicious, rest assured that the police won’t hear about it,” she said with distinct bitterness.
“Wonderful attitude,” Tuck muttered.
“Well, how would you like to be banished from your own home?”
“If it brought down two killers, I’d like it just fine.”
She sent him a dirty look. “You probably would.”
“Look, hasn’t it occurred to you that this little trip could be saving your life? Harper probably told you something like that, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” she said sullenly. Remembering how the dark Lincoln had slowed down as it drove past her car that night, she shivered. The police were right and she was wrong, but why did they have to stick her with a coldhearted, hardnosed, inconsiderate jerk like Tuck Hannigan?
A side glance caught his granite profile, irritating her all over again. She wanted to ruffle his feathers. Under that inch-thick layer of cop skin had to be a human being.
“Wasn’t your name in the papers a while back?” she asked.
Tuck heaved a sigh; she had finally remembered. “Yeah, it was. But I don’t want to talk about it, so just drop it.”
“You really enjoy giving orders, don’t you?” Her mouth twisted. “And I really hate taking them.”
“So I’ve noticed.” He sent her a hard look. “But you will take them. When I say move, you move. When I say stop, you stop. And I don’t care if there are people around or not. There’s a reason behind every order I give you, and I’m not going to waste time explaining every word I say.”
“Oh, really? Telling me to drop a subject of conversation is important to this…this fiasco?”
“No, but my life isn’t open for discussion.”
“I suppose mine is, though.”
“If it pertains to this job, yes. Otherwise, no.”
Nicole folded her arms and stared broodingly out the side window. This was high country, with vast stretches of barren, sage-covered land. Because there was nothing else to do, Nicole reached for the atlas she’d seen lying on the back seat, flipped the pages to the one of Nevada and began coordinating their location with the map. The mountains she could see coming up were the White Pine Mountains. Behind them were the Monitor Range, the Toquima Range and the Shoshones. It looked to her like they were only about forty miles out of Ely. That was good, because she needed to find a rest room.
Laying the atlas on the seat between them, she said her piece. “I need to stop at the first gas station or restaurant we come to.”
He shot her an annoyed look. “Already?”
“Would you like a detailed explanation?” she asked with saccharine sweetness. “Or may I keep the personal aspects of my life private?”
“Keep any damned thing you want private. Do you hear me asking questions about your personal ‘aspects’?”
“Well, thank you very much, Mr. Congeniality,” she. said with heavy sarcasm.
“You’re not the greatest traveling companion, either, lady.”
Anger rose in Nicole like steam billowing from a vat of boiling water. What she wouldn’t like to tell this overbearing jerk! Clamping her lips shut to stop herself, she turned her face to the side window.
Tuck’s stomach was tight with resentment. Joe had pulled a fast one on him. She’s a nice woman. You’ll like her. Yeah, right. If Nicole Currie was nice, he was the tooth fairy. So far on this trip she’d wallowed in self-pity, bitten his head off several times, and argued against every one of his instructions. “Orders,” she called them. Why, oh, why, had he fallen for that “cushy job” line of Crawford’s? Right now he could be peacefully driving along by himself, going somewhere to be alone and think his own problems through. Instead he had this…this emotional female on his hands.
He had put on his dark sunglasses for driving, and out of the corner of his eye he took a look at his passenger. Without that resentful expression on her face she would be prettier than average. He liked her short hairstyle, which was unusual as he normally preferred long hair on women. But the cut fit Nicole’s features. Like himself, she had put on a clean top with last night’s jeans. Today she was wearing a sleeveless red knit shirt with a V-neck. There was a delicate gold chain around her creamy throat and small gold earrings in her ears. She had put on makeup, too. Not a lot, he would swear, just a little blusher and some lipstick. Also, she must have used a few dabs of that same perfume he’d noticed last night, because the scent was faintly in the air.
His gaze returned to the road and stayed there. She might be pretty and she might smell good, but they were not going to be friends. Acquaintances, eventually, probably, but he wasn’t looking for a female friend, particularly in this situation.
“There’s a truck stop ahead,” Nicole stated.
“I see it.”
Tuck studied the traffic around the truck stop and his heart skipped a beat. The white sports car that had passed him last night was at a gas pump. He scanned the area for its driver and decided the person must be inside the building.
Wheeling into the truck stop, he parked next to the restaurant. Leaving the engine idling, he turned in the seat. “I’m going in to check things out. You wait here.”
Nicole’s eyes widened. “But I need…”
“I said, wait here. If everything’s all right, you can go in.”
She drew an exasperated breath, which Tuck didn’t hear as he was already out of the car and heading for the building.
At the counter there was a line of people—two men and three women—waiting to pay for their purchases. Tuck hung back and looked them over, as one by one they paid for gas or miscellaneous items and walked out.
A long-legged blonde wearing white shorts and a tight yellow T-shirt got into the sports car, gunned the engine and took off.
Tuck went outside and back to his car. “Okay, you can get out now,” he said, sliding behind the wheel.
“Thank you very much,” Nicole said waspishly, opening her door and hurrying into the building.
Lighting a cigarette, Tuck rolled down his window and thought about that sports car. Its driver being a woman meant nothing. In fact, it would be pretty smart of Lowicki to send a woman to tail him and Nicole, but that would mean that Lowicki. had somehow learned of the department’s plans to protect Nicole outside of Nevada, which only a handful of cops were supposed to know.
Seeing that car twice was probably only coincidence, Tuck thought, though the scowl on his face wouldn’t quite go away. Tossing his cigarette out the window, he grabbed the atlas to study the Nevada map. The logical route north from Ely was Highway 93, which was his planned route. But what was best, to take 93 or to cut west on 50 and then take another road north? His scowl deepened. At this rate they’d never get out of Nevada, let alone reach northern Idaho.
Nicole came out and hopped into the car. She had a paper bag with her. Tuck looked at it questioningly.
His expression rubbed her wrong. “It’s just some snacks,” she said defensively.
“So what did we really stop for?” he asked coldly. “The rest room or snacks?”
“Both,” she snapped, although buying some chips and soft drinks hadn’t occurred to her until she’d come out of the rest room.
It wasn’t until they were several miles out of Ely that she noticed the Highway 50 sign. Frowning, she checked the map and asked, “Why are going west again? Highway 93 goes directly north.”
“Just playing it safe,” Tuck said.
“Wait a minute. We’re zigzagging the state. I thought we’d stay on 95 and you changed directions at Tonopah. Now you’re doing it again. Has something happened I’m not aware of to make you waste so much time?”
“In a hurry to get to Idaho?”
“No, I’m not in a hurry,” she said sharply. “But I have a right to know what’s going on.”
Tuck heaved a long-suffering sigh. He didn’t want to frighten her, but naturally she’d be curious about his time-consuming route.
“All right, I’ll tell you what’s going on. I’ve seen the same car twice, once last night before reaching Tonopah and today it was parked at the truck stop, getting gas.”
Nicole gaped at him. “Are you saying that someone is following us?”
“The possibility is extremely remote. I just don’t want to take any chances. We’re going to cut north on 278.”
Nicole looked at the map and located 278. “That road connects with Interstate 80. What are you going to do after that, go east or west?”
“If everything looks okay, I’ll probably go east and pick up 225 north at Elko, which will take us through the Duck Valley Indian Reservation into Idaho.”
Studying the north-south dimension data on the Nevada and Idaho maps, she sighed. “When we reach the reservation, we’ll only be halfway to Coeur d’Alene.”
“About that, yes.”
“And we still have hundreds of miles to travel in Nevada.”
“Yes. But barring further mechanical problems, we’ll still reach Coeur d’Alene sometime tonight.”
“The middle of the night,” Nicole said gloomily.
Tuck didn’t answer because he was again feeling sympathy for Nicole’s plight. There were alternatives to making this long drive, and he should have thought of them when discussing the trip with Captain Crawford. For one thing, they could have chartered a private plane and already be in Coeur d’Alene. Why hadn’t Joe thought of that? Why hadn’t he?
Then again, Joe Crawford didn’t miss much. He probably had considered every possibility and decided driving was their best course. At least Nicole was out of Vegas, which was undoubtedly Joe’s primary concern.
Nicole tried to resign herself to the torturous journey. What else could she do, get out and walk? Sighing, she opened the sack and pulled out two cans of soda. “Would you like one?”
Blinking in surprise at her even tone of voice, Tuck nodded. “Yes, thanks.”

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