Roomful of Roses Page 13

  "Yes," she gasped. "I'm a reporter."

  "By God," the taller man burst out, "just what we need. Okay, honey, you just keep cool and you'll get the story of your life."

  "Will I live to tell it?" she asked.

  "Maybe, if you do right." The tall man raised his voice. "That's her name, fuzz, she's a reporter. Now, you just do like I say and she won't get hurt."

  "What do you want, Mooney?" Chief Davis called sharply, and Wynn heard the concern in his voice and hated her own stupidity for making the situation worse.

  "I want a helicopter," he called back. "And a pilot to fly us anywhere I say."

  There was a pause and voices rumbling. "Mooney, the closest one we can get belongs to the Army. We'll have to send to the base for it - it will take time."

  "I got no time," the escapee yelled back, "and neither has this broad!"

  "I can't get a chopper in less than two hours!" Davis called back. "But there's a light aircraft at the airport, the pilot's right here. He says he'll take you up."

  The two men looked at each other. "What do you think, Jack?" the foreignlooking one asked urgently. "The longer we stay here, the hotter it's gonna get. They'll bring in more fuzz and pretty soon they might decide to rush us. We got no choice!"

  "I don't know," Jack said gruffly. "Maybe it's a trap. I don't trust these local yokels."

  Wynn was hoping she wouldn't faint or give in to the panic she felt. The gun was at her throat and she wanted to scream and cry and beg for her life, but these men were desperate enough not to care if they had to kill her, and she knew it. She could taste death as she never had, and the only thought in her mind was that she might never see McCabe again.

  "Wait a minute," the taller one said, glaring at Wynn. "She knows that local fuzz. Hey, broad, you tell me if he's on the level. Put that gun a little closer, Tony, make her real nervous. Come on, broad, is he a square john?"

  She swallowed. "Yes," she managed on a broken sob. "His word is his honor, he won't break it. He won't ... let anyone else break it, either."

  The taller man relaxed a little, but the gun pressed harder against her throat.

  "Maybe we could take her with us," the shorter one said. "Yeah, Jack, we can take her along!"

  Jack nodded. "Okay," he said with sudden decision.

  The gun moved away, and although she was still held painfully by the escapee, she breathed just a bit easier.

  "Okay, fuzz, we'll take the plane," the convict yelled at the policemen. "But the broad comes with us. Now, we're coming

  out. My buddy's got a gun in her back. At the first unexpected move, she's gonna die fast. You got that, fuzz?"

  "I understand," Bill Davis said calmly.

  "Come on out, Mooney, nobody's going to fire." He yelled to his men to put away their weapons.

  And then the longest walk of Wynn's life began. It was only half a block to the road.

  But each step was an agony of fear and anticipation. What if the man's finger slipped, what if he stumbled? The pistol barrel was cold and hard in the small of her back, and she was trembling so much it was an effort to walk. She knew there were tears running down her cheeks, but she couldn't help it. She was utterly terrified.

  Nothing existed in the whole world except the expanse of concrete under her feet and the gun at her back. She was aware of the discomfort of her arm being bent back behind her, the footsteps of the men who held her prisoner. In the distance she made out uniforms and flashing blue lights.

  Her mind was running wild, but Wynn forced herself to think calmly. If they took her out of Redvale, her chances of getting away alive were nil. They'd kill the pilot and her, too. With murder convictions behind them, two more murders wouldn't matter at all. She had to think, and fast.

  The taller man wasn't carrying a gun. Only the short one was armed. That would make things a little easier, if she could manage some way to help the police get the drop on them without getting herself or some innocent person shot in the process.

  She could faint, but the convict would simply hold on to her, or shoot her on the way down, and she'd have accomplished nothing. The men were nervous, wildly nervous, and she understood. She was nervous, too. The threat of being shot and killed was enough to make anyone shake.

  "Jack," the shorter one exclaimed huskily as they approached the crowd around the police car. "Jack, what if they -"

  "Shut up!" the taller one snapped.

  "Don't lose your nerve, you dummy. And watch the girl. These idiot reporters don't mind taking chances."

  "Sure, Jack." He pushed the gun barrel punishingly against her spine. "Feel this, lady? I'll blow you in half if you try any thing, you got that?"

  "I wouldn't ... dream of it," she ground out. Her arm felt as if it were being jerked out of the socket, but she was still working on ways and means of escape.

  The men jerked her out onto the side walk, and the first person Wynn saw, standing rigidly beside Bill Davis, was McCabe!

  He was leaning heavily on the cane, his face a mask that she couldn't see behind, somber and stern and unyielding.

  "This is the pilot," Davis said, nodding at McCabe. "He'll fly you out."

  "You got a license, man?" the taller of the escapees asked McCabe.

  "Don't worry," McCabe said with a mocking smile. "I can fly it."

  "Well, you don't try nothing funny, or the girl gets it," the shorter convict told him. "Let's go."

  McCabe limped forward on the cane, and Wynn's eyes widened, saying things he didn't seem to see. His eyes were on the two men and they didn't waver as he came close.

  "That's far enough, man," the one called Tony rasped, tightening his hold on Wynn.

  He cocked the gun. "You hear that? I'll kill her if you come any closer!"

  The taller man was looking terrified.

  "Stay back, I tell you!"

  McCabe stopped just in front of Wynn.

  "Now, boys," he said calmly, "what's the matter? Nobody's going to shoot. You just let the lady go, and I'll be your hostage. Okay?"

  Wynn held her breath. The two escapees looked at each other nervously.

  "He's a big one," Tony muttered.

  "Yeah, but he's crippled, see how he's leaning on that cane?" the one called Jack muttered. "Hell, it'll be easier just watching one of them. Let the girl go, and we'll take him."

  McCabe's eyes were boring into the smaller man's. "That's right," he said, watching as the convict began to ease his grip on Wynn's arm, and his voice was almost hypnotic. "That's right, just let her go.

  The one called Tony loosened his grip and finally released her altogether, freeing her from the painful hold and the distasteful intimacy all at once. But she didn't move. She stood exactly where she had been and watched with eyes full of horror. What if they shot McCabe, for God's sake! But McCabe was as calm as if he'd gone fishing, despite the tiny bit of pallor that Wynn, knowing him, detected.

  "Now, you don't try nothing, big boy," the short convict muttered hoarsely, and he leveled the pistol at McCabe.

  McCabe gave it a hard stare, and Wynn knew he was remembering another time, another place. She wanted to scream at him to be careful, that she'd die if anything happened to him, but she was frozen in place, numb.

  "He ain't gonna try nothing," the taller man said with a sarcastic grin. "Are you, big man? You're just a cripple."

  "That's been said about one time too many," McCabe growled in a dangerously soft voice. And before anyone realized what that tone meant, he moved. Quickly, as if his leg were in mint condition, he shot forward, grabbing the smaller man's arm to jerk him forward. McCabe's massive fist connected with a crunch. The foreign man cried out and sank to the ground, leaving the pistol behind in McCabe's hand. He swung backward without even looking, slamming the pistol barrel straight into the face of the second convict and sending him reeling into the arms of the police. It happened so fast that Wynn's eyes blinked incredulously. And the look on McCabe's impassive face was as calm as milk in a bowl,
until he turned his head and she got a look at his eyes.

  "My God, you're quick!" Bill Davis exclaimed, moving forward while his men got the groggy convicts to their feet and marched them off to patrol cars. The police chief took off his hat and wiped his sweaty brow. "That was a terrible chance you took, McCabe!"

  "Before you explode, look at this." McCabe broke open the chamber of the police special the convict had carried and showed it to Davis.

  "Empty!" the policeman burst out. He said a word Wynn wouldn't have repeated and whirled. "Hey, boys, the gun was empty!"

  "Well, you told me they'd fired at you several times," McCabe told him. "And when the little guy pointed it at me, I could see inside the cylinder. Assuming that there wasn't a bullet in the firing chamber, the piece was empty. But," he added with a grim smile, "the look in the man's eyes told me he was bluffing. That was all I needed."

  "I thought you'd gone nuts," Davis admitted, studying him. "What if the gun had been loaded?"

  "I'd be dead," he said simply. He was staring at Wynn, his eyes blazing, glittering. "Are you all right?" he asked in a deep, husky tone.

  She swallowed and nodded. Her lips were dry and she felt as if she were going to faint any minute. Her legs were so wobbly they barely held her up. The numbness was just beginning to wear off and she realized with startling impact how close she'd come to dying.

  McCabe drew in a long, slow breath. "I could have killed them both," he said heavily. "I could have killed them for putting you through that."

  "I'm all right," she said weakly, and managed a smile. "Sorry I got in the way, Bill. I thought they said you'd made an arrest."

  "Never trust a rumor, don't you know that?" Davis said patiently. He shook his head and whistled through his lips. "That was close. I was going to stall for time and bargain. If that didn't work, I was going to risk a rush. But McCabe happened along at just the right moment. Son, I guess hopping around trouble spots does give you an edge. I won't even mention how Mooney's jaw got cracked," he added with a smile.

  McCabe glanced at him. "If he wants to press charges, I'd be delighted to go to court with him," he said. "Tell him I said that."

  "I don't think he's going to be too anxious to make trouble. He's in enough as it is." He patted Wynn on the back. "Stick to reporting and leave catching crooks to us, will you, Wynn? You're just plain rotten at this."

  "Sure, Bill," she said shakily, and grinned. "Next time, I'll stay by the scanner."

  "Thanks a lot," he called over his shoulder. "You'll need to come down to the station and sign a statement."

  "Let me get my knees calmed down and I'll be right with you," she said.

  The police cars roared away, and a crowd gathered to see what the commotion was. Taking advantage of the uproar,

  McCabe took Wynn's arm and escorted her back down the alley to the office while nobody was looking. He was grim and unsmiling, and his eyes were frightening.

  "What happened?" Judy asked excitedly. Kelly and Jess turned, listening from the back, where they were working.

  "Later," McCabe said curtly. He took Wynn into the office and slammed the door behind them.

  "Now, McCabe," she began, feeling too shaken for an argument.

  But he wasn't arguing. He pulled her into his arms and held her as if he were afraid she might get away. His face burrowed into her throat and he breathed roughly. The arms holding her trembled, his body trembled. He groaned, and held her even closer.

  "Oh, God," he ground out huskily. "Oh, God ... oh, God, I've never been so afraid in all my life!"

  She smoothed the hair at the nape of his strong neck, running her fingers through it lightly, tenderly. "It's all right, darling," she whispered softly. "I'm fine, really I am ... just a little shaky. They didn't hurt me. I'm only bruised a little."

  He was still shaking, and it frightened her to see him like this, to see him so vulnerable and upset.

  "McCabe, I'm all right," she repeated, holding him, clinging to him. "I'm all right!"

  "If that gun had been loaded," he said in a strained, harsh tone, "I could have lost you. Right there, on the street, with a dozen policemen watching, I could have had to watch you die."

  "But you didn't," she said softly. "And a miss is as good as a mile, isn't it?"

  "No, it damned well isn't!" He took in a sharp breath and lifted his head. His face was paper white, his eyes filled with raw emotion. "That's it. That's all. You're quitting. You're going to go home and have babies and raise roses! But you're not going to work here."

  Her eyes widened. "It's my job!"

  "It was," he said coldly. "Not anymore."

  "Why? Because of a once-in-a-million incident that ended without tragedy?" she demanded. "You won't give up your job, why should I?"

  He stood there staring at her, and all the expression drained out of his face. Every last bit of it. "This is how you felt when I told you how I got shot, isn't it?" he asked slowly, with dawning realization. "This ... sickening coldness is just exactly what you felt."

  She nodded. "Just exactly."

  He took a deep breath and his hands moved warmly up and down her arms. He studied her pale face with eyes that wor shiped every soft line of it, every curve, every crevice.

  "Well," he sighed heavily, "I guess I'd better get some information on the water situation in south Georgia. Harry's going to need a lot of help to get the message across to the voters when they call a referendum on the countywide water system this fall."

  Tears sprang up like green fountains in her eyes and she stared at him uncomprehendingly.

  "You'll have to be patient at first, of course," he continued, unabashed. "If I start wearing bush shirts and carrying a machete in the backyard, you'll have to pretend it's perfectly normal. And if I wear my pith helmet to work once in a while, you mustn't stare."

  She nodded, teeth biting her lip, trying to take it all in after the emotional experience she'd been through.

  "And you'll have to be patient about consummating the marriage, because this leg is killing me!" he groaned, moving it restlessly.

  "McCabe, I " She was feeling guilty now about all that he was giving up. "I think maybe I could get used to it."

  "Well, I couldn't," he said flatly, jerking her close and wincing when his leg collided with hers. He eased it between hers, and lifted an eyebrow when she flushed at the intimate contact.

  "My, my, this is an inter esting position, isn't it?" he murmured.

  "Will you listen to me?"

  "I'm trying. But you're stumbling all over the place, darling." He bent and took her mouth softly, slowly. "Your legs are trembling," he breathed into her open mouth.

  "Well, so are yours," she laughed huskily. He lifted his head and glanced at the desk and raised an eyebrow. She blushed red and hit his chest.

  "It was only a thought," he murmured, smiling as he bent again.

  "I don't want my first time to be on somebody's desk," she muttered.

  "It would be my first time, too," he told her. "I only write those erotic scenes, Wynn, I don't live them. I don't have any notion about how you'd do it, but I'm perfectly willing to experiment in the name of science."

  She burst out laughing and ruffled his thick hair lovingly. "You'd be screaming because of your leg," she assured him.

  "Remember what I told you about that?" he murmured, brushing his mouth over her face warmly, softly. "That I could walk naked into a forest fire ..."

  "First," she murmured, "help Harry get the water system."

  He laughed as his mouth burrowed into hers. And then the laughing stopped altogether, and they both went up in flames.

  They spent their wedding night in a luxurious motel on a Florida beach, McCabe having coaxed Ed back home early for the occasion of their wedding. It had been a small one, and Wynn's dress hadn't been exactly what she wanted, because there wasn't a lot of choice on such short notice.

  But it was the most beautiful wedding she'd ever been to, and she felt absurdly femi
nine with McCabe's proud eyes on her through the entire ceremony.

  She lay in his arms on the balcony in the large chair he'd pulled out there, and watched the whitecaps hit the moonlit beach. They'd just finished supper in their room, and he'd tugged her down into his lap so that she was lying across his good leg and not putting pressure on the bad one.

  "Are you comfortable?" she asked.

  "Of course not. Now, shut up. I'm trying to kiss you."

  "In that case." She smiled as his mouth found hers in the dim light, and sighed. "Oh, McCabe, I wish we had the beach to ourselves and that you were in peak condition."