Finders Keepers. Shirl Henke

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      Now she only had one of his long legs and an arm dangling out the doors. “I can do this,” she muttered to herself, leaning over him so she could pull the offending limbs inside.

      “Ya got great k-knockers…ash, too,” he murmured as his hand groped clumsily around her hip.

      Quickly she bent the leg and shoved it inside, then threw the offending arm across his chest and slammed the door before it flopped out again. Sam could hear the crack of his elbow hitting the door panel but he was clearly feeling no pain. The giggling continued, a side effect of the drug she hadn’t been warned about.

      “Crap, ‘happy hour’ at ten in the morning,” she muttered to herself. Relief made her almost giddy enough to giggle in return while she once again scanned the street. Not so much as a window shade moved in any of the buildings. Southern California. It figured. “I could’ve gone after him with a net and trident and nobody would’ve noticed a thing.”

      Sam climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition, then placed the .38 in the glove compartment before pulling out and driving away slowly. In the back of the Econoline she could hear soft male snoring as her new “retrieval” settled into a deep, drugged slumber.

      “Well, handsome, we sure as hell gave added dimension to the term tailgating,” she said, turning the corner of the street and heading for a deserted strip mall next to the freeway.

      Pulling into the back of the parking lot beneath a cluster of blue gum trees, she shifted to Park, keeping the engine running while she climbed over the seat and quickly changed into a loose set of pink hospital scrubs. After exchanging her slides for a pair of crepe-soled lace-up shoes, she climbed out of the side door of the Econoline and opened the back.

      Changing Granger’s appearance took a bit more work but she’d had lots of practice. Still, her usual “snatches” weren’t built anything like this specimen. It took her twice the average time to get his big body trussed up in a lightweight straitjacket concealed by a large institutional-looking terry robe. The faintest hint of a raspy black beard gave him a piratical look. More eyelashes than Liz Taylor. She shook her head in aggravation and slipped a sleeping mask over those wonderful eyes, then taped his mouth shut.

      By the time she’d swathed his head with gauze bandages, Sam felt her confidence return. She replaced his shoes with bedroom slippers, then used the custom seat-belt straps attached to the floor to secure him safely for the ride. The belt would also minimize any thrashing when he woke.

      So far, so good, she thought as she climbed out of the van carrying two oblong magnetic plates. After locking the rear door, she attached the signs to the sides of the vehicle. They read Fairview Hospital and gave a bogus address about five hundred miles northeast of San Diego on Interstate 15. When they neared there, she had other sets for the cross-country trip to Boston.

      “Sweet dreams, gorgeous.” Humming softly to herself, she pulled out of the deserted parking lot and hopped on the freeway. With any luck they’d make Utah by nightfall.

      Funny, but he’d never gone blind with a hangover before. Matt blinked and tried to focus through the blackness, past the pounding inside his head. He’d been fading in and out of consciousness for an indeterminate length of time while someone was driving him someplace. He hadn’t the foggiest who or where. His head throbbed so wickedly he didn’t much give a damn. But then the vehicle came to an abrupt stop and he was forced into full and painful wakefulness.

      Sam could see he was conscious if not exactly alert. She gave him an experimental shove. “Rise and shine, sweet cheeks.”

      Matt wished to hell he could choke the life out of whoever it was and just fade back into blissful oblivion. Must’ve been one hell of a party. He couldn’t remember tying one on this badly since he was a freshman at Yale. The woman prodded him again. Shit, he was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey! What the hell was going on? No party, for sure. It started to come back to him when he heard that Boston accent again and smelled her rose perfume.

      “Just sit up. You can do it,” Sam wheedled, tugging on the robe covering the straitjacket that held his arms immobilized.

      If only his head would stop the trip-hammer pounding so he could think. Did she work for Renkov? He asked but only mumbles came out. When he tried to talk he sounded like Bruce Springsteen singing. Then he recognized the tight burning feeling over his mouth. The loony bitch had taped it shut! And blindfolded him. His senses were starting to coordinate now, feeding his aching brain enough information to let him know that he was in trouble.

      Big trouble.

      For all he knew she intended to dump him in San Diego Bay. Yeah, she had to be working for that mobster Renkov. But how the hell had the bastard found out he was here? Had he compromised his sources and placed Tess and her son in danger, too? Matt swore to himself, frustrated, unable to think of anything he could do to break free.

      Sam could sense the wheels turning in her captive’s cunning mind. She knew he was going to make this difficult for her as she yanked his legs over the side of the van and pulled him into an upright position. He tried falling backwards into the van, but she applied pressure to a reflex point under his jawbone just in front of his ear that sent a nasty wave of pain shooting into his skull, which she was certain already pounded with agony from the nasal Mickey she’d given him. She’d studied martial arts since her early days with the Miami-Dade PD.

      Matt wondered how long he had been out. Judging from the stiffness in his joints, he guessed hours. His bladder suddenly joined the circuit overload and informed him that he needed to take a serious whiz.

      Sam knew he was achy and bruised, not to mention past due for using the bathroom. “You’d better cooperate and climb out of the van like a good boy or I’ll have to apply more persuasion. I know the drug’s worn off. If you want to be comfortable and get rid of the restraints, you have to cooperate. Then I’ll explain everything. Oh, and you can use the convenience, too,” she added as an afterthought.

      Bitch. What choice did he have?

      As if reading his mind, she continued, “Walk for me or I’ll leave you wrapped up in the van while I get a good night’s rest in the motel room.”

      His bladder made the decision for him. He sat forward and gingerly slid from the van to the ground with her guiding him. Maybe she didn’t intend to kill him or turn him over to Renkov. Damn, but he’d never felt so helpless in his life, bound and gagged in pitch darkness. Not to mention the wretched drug hangover enhanced by her skillful application of torture to his jaw. He let her guide him across a sidewalk toward whatever fate she had in store for him.

      Sam checked the parking lot of the Shady Acres Motel, a small sleazy place situated in a nothing burg in southern Utah. No one watched as she led her “patient” toward the door to the dingy room. The desk clerk had barely taken his eyes off a Wheel of Fortune rerun as he processed her credit card and handed her a room key. She was an R.N. transporting a burn patient to a special rehab facility in Salt Lake. Not half as interesting as Vanna White.

      Desert heat seared them as they walked to the room. Sam could tell by his muffled curses that his feet burned through the thin soles of the slippers. He was uncomfortable but there was nothing she could do except hurry him inside. “Here, lean against the wall while I unlock the door,” she commanded.

      A blessedly cool blast of air hit her, never mind that it was dank and reeked of old cigarettes. So much for a nonsmoking room. “Here, let me guide you to the bed,” she said to Granger, who shuffled along, forced СКАЧАТЬ