Authors: Debbie Macomber
“I’m sorry, Kyle.”
“It isn’t your fault,” he reassured her smoothly.
After pulling the car parts and the rock off to the side of the road, he stood in the middle of the highway, arms akimbo, staring off into the distance. Carrie couldn’t remember the last time they’d seen another car, let alone a farmhouse. Wheat fields stretched as far as the naked eye could see.
The sun was beating down, and Kyle wiped his hand across his brow. “This doesn’t look promising.”
“Someone will come along.” She forced herself to sound optimistic. She glanced at her watch, silently praying that they were at least on a school-bus route. Glancing down the road, she would have given her eyeteeth to find a bright yellow bus.
“Someone could come along,” Kyle agreed, “but it might take a while. Next week, if we’re lucky.” He leaned his back against the side of the car and slowly sank into a sitting position. He stared vacantly into open space and went still and quiet as if he were meditating. He was probably wishing he’d never laid eyes on her, Carrie guessed.
She couldn’t help but admire his restraint.
Lowering herself onto the grass beside him, she gathered her knees under her chin and pressed her forehead there.
“I feel terrible about all this,” she confessed, willing to accept full responsibility for the mishap. If she
hadn’t suggested they take this shortcut, this might never have happened.
“It’s not your fault,” he told her for the second time.
“But I was the one who—”
“I said it wasn’t your fault!”
“You don’t need to yell at me,” she snapped back. Then she realized what he’d done. Kyle was losing his cool. Unemotional Kyle Harris. The same Kyle Harris who rarely raised his voice. Carrie was ecstatic.
“Do it!” she said excitedly, leaping back to her feet. She knotted one fist to encourage him and punched the still afternoon air. “Let loose, Kyle. You have every right in the world to be angry. Go ahead, yell.” She threw back her head and let loose with a scream herself to help him release his inhibitions.
He stared up at her as if she’d taken leave of her senses. “What’s wrong with you? Have you been sitting too long in the sun?”
“No.” She reclaimed the place next to him on the grass when it was apparent he wasn’t going to follow her lead. “For a moment there, I thought you might be human. I was wrong.”
“You think I’m inhuman because I don’t throw a temper tantrum? I prefer to think of myself as mature.”
“But don’t you ever get angry?”
“Of course I do.”
“How do you express it then? Everyone does, in one way or another.” He didn’t seem the type to beat his dog. He was kind to old ladies and good with
children, she’d seen that for herself. In their increasingly heavy schedule of public service appearances, Kyle had never been anything but wonderful. Except to her, of course.
“I run,” he explained in a thin, tight voice. “I know you’d rather I did something a bit more dramatic, like shoot everyone in a McDonald’s or my local post office, but I prefer to vent my frustration in a more appropriate manner.”
This was at the crux of their dislike for one another, Carrie decided. Probably the most unheralded, wild act Kyle had ever committed was tearing the
DO NOT REMOVE
tag from his pillow. She sincerely doubted that he’d done the things normal kids do, like skip school or eat paste. He was probably the best debate team member his school had ever produced.
“How long do you think it’ll take someone to happen upon us?” she asked after several long minutes. She couldn’t tolerate the silence any longer.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
An edge sounded in his voice, but that was the extent of his irritation as far as she could tell.
Five more minutes passed. Kyle stood, reached inside the car, and got the map. He spread it open. “My best guess is that we’re about here,” he said, pointing to an obscure spot on the map. “There’s a town here.” He moved his finger an inch or so down the road. “Maybe ten miles.”
“Looks more like fifteen to me.”
“Fifteen, then,” he said with the utmost patience. “I’ll head that way and you can wait here.”
“You’re not leaving me.” She wanted that under
stood right now. Apparently he didn’t know her as well as she thought.
“Carrie, we don’t have any choice.”
“I’m not sitting out here in the hot sun while you traipse into town.” As it happened the afternoon was a balmy seventy-five degrees and she was in no immediate danger. Physical danger, at any rate. Emotional was something else.
“I can make the trip in half the time without you,” he insisted.
“Maybe you can, but…I don’t know why I object so strongly, but I don’t want to be left here by the side of a deserted road all by myself.”
“It wouldn’t be more than an hour or two,” he insisted.
Carrie was convinced Kyle viewed her as a damned nuisance, and for once she agreed with him. “You’re right, I’m being silly. The only logical thing is for me to do as you suggest and wait here,” she said bravely.
He studied her a moment as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. As if he was afraid she was going to change her mind, he opened his suitcase, got out his running shoes, and took off his loafers.
He warmed up by running around the car a couple of times; at least that was the excuse he gave her when she asked.
“You’re sure about this?” He eyed her speculatively.
“Of course,” she said, flashing him a stouthearted smile. It’d take more than being abandoned in the blazing sun to get her to admit what a coward she was. It wasn’t likely she’d meet up with a mass
murder on a lonely country road. This was what she got from religiously watching
Unsolved Mysteries
, which was her all-time crime-solving favorite. Carrie had seen every episode since the show had first aired. She believed one day she too might solve a crime.
Carrie went the first few feet with him but quickly became winded. “Be careful.” She raised her hand to bid him farewell.
He jogged backward for several steps, studying her, before he turned, increased his speed, and took off. Watching him, Carrie was reminded of a gazelle, his movements were so fluid and graceful. Within minutes he’d disappeared around the curve in the road.
Carrie remained where she was, her fingertips pressed to her lips as she battled back some unnamed emotion. It wasn’t that she was especially worried about him—other than his inability to express emotion, that was. As for his safety, she was sure Kyle could take care of himself. Nor was she overly concerned about her own well-being, except that she seemed a little rocky emotionally.
All right, a whole lot rocky. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this close to tears. And for what reason? For the life of her, Carrie didn’t know.
She returned to the car and sat down in the shade of the disabled vehicle. No sooner had she checked her watch than she caught sight of a movement out of the corner of her eye. Looking up, she saw Kyle rounding the corner. He was coming back.
Leaping to her feet, she stood waiting anxiously for an explanation.
“I can’t do it,” he muttered. He bent forward and braced his hands against his knees as he sucked in deep gulps of oxygen.
“You can’t run fifteen miles?”
“No,” he said, as if she’d insulted him. “I can’t leave you.”
“Why not?” She’d thought she’d done an adequate job of convincing him to go on without her.
“Your eyes,” he muttered, sounding as if he was angry with himself. If that was the case, he was more angry with her, although heaven knew he’d never admit it.
He wasn’t making any sense.
“You looked at me with those big brown eyes like a dog-pound puppy. You made me feel I was leaving you to an unknown fate. We’re both in this. If you think you can make fifteen miles, we’ll go together.”
“I couldn’t jog that far.” If the truth be known, she wouldn’t make it around the next curve in the road without requiring CPR.
“We’ll walk,” he said kindly.
If he were a different kind of man he might have made a derogatory comment about her not being physically fit. Perhaps there was more to appreciate about the newscaster than met the eye, Carrie decided.
“You might want to change your shoes,” he said, staring pointedly down at her sandals.
“Ah.” As best as she could remember, everything else she’d packed had heels.
She did a quick check of her suitcase and was just getting ready to close the lid when she heard a car, a very old and sick car that coughed and choked its
way down the road. Within seconds a battered blue pickup came into view.
“Kyle,” she screamed on the off chance he hadn’t noticed. “Someone’s coming!”
The farmer wore denim bib overalls and a straw hat. He pulled over to the side of the road and stuck his head out the window.
“You folks having trouble?” he asked, then climbed out of the cab. “Name’s Billy Bob,” he said, nodded once, and then decisively held out his hand for Kyle to shake. Kyle introduced himself and Carrie and explained what had happened. Carrie inserted a word or two every now and again, accepting the blame for their predicament.
“Is there a chance you could drive us into town?” Kyle asked after a couple of minutes. “I’d be more than willing to pay you for your trouble.”
The farmer rubbed his hand along the side of his jaw as if their predicament took serious consideration. “I don’t suspect it’d be much bother, but you just keep your money inside your wallet. Folks around these parts are glad to help one another. We take pride in being neighborly.” He held the door of the rusted-out truck open for Carrie. “You two climb on board and I’ll get your luggage for you.”
It only took him a minute or two to load the suitcases in the back of the pickup, which he did with surprising dexterity. Now that she watched him, Carrie noticed Billy Bob seemed to be in a hurry, which wasn’t the impression he’d first given them.
Billy Bob joined them in the cab of the truck and revved up the engine.
“I can’t begin to tell you how pleased we are you
came along when you did,” Carrie said. She was sandwiched between the two men, so pleased at being rescued that it was all she could do not to kiss the farmer’s sun-leathered cheek.
Only he wasn’t tan. He must have been ill, she decided, because he didn’t look as if he’d spent a day in the sun in years. His skin was as pale as a newborn’s.
Kyle struck up a conversation and the men talked sports. Carrie was content to let the two chatter, but she noticed the way Billy Bob kept glancing into his rearview mirror as if he expected someone to come up behind him.
Now that she got a good look at him, she realized she had the impression she’d seen him someplace before. “You live around these parts?” she asked when there was a lull in the conversation.
“Me and the missus have a farm on the other side of Wheatland,” he said.
“I suppose you’ve got a family?”
“Sure do,” he answered with a tinge of pride. “Five.”
His hands! That was what was bothering her so much. They were smooth and uncalloused, and his nails were clean and cut square and even.
The two men continued chatting, seeming to find a variety of subjects to discuss at length.
For one wild second Carrie thought she was going to be ill. It was all beginning to add up in her fevered mind.
This wasn’t any farmer.
If his pale face was any indication, he hadn’t spent a single day toiling under the hot sun.
Each bit of information tallied with the next, and the fact he kept checking his rearview mirror troubled her as well. Then there was the certainty she’d seen him before. His profile was familiar. Carrie was convinced she’d seen him, and she racked her mind trying to think of where it might have been.
It came to her then, all at once, like a flash flood.
She
had
seen this man. Recently, too, if her memory served her right. He’d been featured on
Unsolved Mysteries
.
“
Kyle
.” The name came out of Carrie’s throat more like a toad’s croak than anything a human would emit.
Her co-worker glanced fleetingly in her direction and waited a few seconds, but when she didn’t immediately continue, he picked up the conversation.
Billy Bob was a felon, Carrie decided. He must be in order to be profiled on
Unsolved Mysteries
. Unsuspecting, Kyle didn’t understand the danger they’d innocently gotten themselves into.
Given no other choice, Carrie carefully jabbed Kyle with her elbow. Her voice had completely deserted her. She was taking deep, even breaths, hoping to calm down enough to speak coherently, although she hadn’t a clue about what to say. Announcing that she’d seen Billy Bob on
Unsolved Mysteries
was likely to get them killed. She grabbed
hold of Kyle, tightly pinching the tender skin of his upper arm.
“Ouch,” he blurted out.
Unfortunately, Carrie couldn’t make her fingers quit.
“What’s the matter?” Kyle demanded when she stared up at him, silently pleading for him to read the message in her wide eyes. If he had a lick of sense, he’d figure out something was terribly wrong.
A full minute later, Carrie decided Kyle hadn’t a clue.
“You’ve gone pale,” Kyle said. “Are you sick?”
Enthusiastically she nodded her head as if over-taken by a sudden bout of the chills. Goose bumps ran up and down her arms, but they had nothing to do with the outside temperature.
“You’re trying to say something?” Kyle coaxed.
She nodded her head wildly.
“Something’s wrong?”
The man was a genius. Once more Carrie nodded with enough enthusiasm for her chin to bounce against her collarbone.
“Just say it,” Kyle said impatiently.
“Yes,” the driver of their truck concurred. “Just say it.”
“He’s not a farmer,” Carrie blurted out breathlessly. “He’s an escaped convict.” Her words came out in squeaks.
“Oh, come on, Carrie!” Kyle said with an embarrassed laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it isn’t.” Billy Bob’s country twang disappeared faster than chocolate eggs at an Easter egg hunt. “How’d you know?” He gave her an approving
grin, as if he appreciated her discriminating skills. “Damn. I thought I had the hillbilly part down good.”
“You mean you’re not a farmer?” Kyle demanded in a shocked, tight voice.
“Sorry about this, folks, but I promise not to detain you for long.” With one hand on the steering wheel, Billy Bob reached for his boot and withdrew a small handgun. He waved it in the air, being sure they both caught a glimpse of it. Then he proceeded to point the barrel in their direction.
Carrie gasped and her hands automatically shot into the air.
“How’d you figure it out?” Billy Bob demanded of Carrie a second time.
“You’re not tan, and your fingernails are too clean.”
“Shit, you’re right,” he said, and then, glancing in his rearview mirror, he added, “Double shit. It looks like the law’s about to catch up with me. I thought I had more time on them than this.”
This gladdened Carrie’s heart until she realized that Billy Bob was likely to use her and Kyle as hostages.
They were nearing the outskirts of Wheatland, with blue and red patrol lights flashing in the rearview mirror. Carrie twisted around to see how far the authorities were from catching up with them, but it was impossible to gauge. The sirens sounded as if they were almost upon them, but the whirling lights were far behind. If she hadn’t been so frightened, she might have been able to do something to detain Billy Bob. The gun barrel aimed in their gen
eral direction was plenty of incentive to do exactly as he said, however.
Carrie studied the community that they were fast approaching. A huge water tower stood in the distance to the left of town and a handful of grain elevators to the right.
The truck pitched as Billy Bob took an unexpected turn, heading down the train tracks. Carrie was thrown against Billy Bob’s hard shoulder, and Kyle slammed against her. The truck pitched and heaved as it traveled down the uneven tracks. Carrie felt like a popcorn seed in hot oil. The ride nearly jarred her senseless. Then, mercifully, they stopped.
“Get out,” Billy Bob ordered, slamming on the brakes. The abrupt action pitched them forward. “Now. Move it, move it, move it.” Billy Bob’s accent was replaced with an authoritative voice that would have struck fear in the heart of a drill sergeant.
Carrie and Kyle scrambled to do as he demanded. Kyle flew out the side of the truck and Carrie was shoved fiercely after him. She would have hit the pavement head first if not for Kyle, who caught her in his arms.
Billy Bob didn’t waste any time making sure they weren’t harmed. With the passenger door still open, the truck shot off the train tracks and down a side street to a back alley. Two wheels lifted off the ground as he careened into the alley.
“He’s got our suitcases,” Carrie shouted, running after him. She didn’t know where she got the strength to do anything so incredibly stupid. It wasn’t as if she had a chance of catching him, or that she’d know what to do if by some wild fluke she did.
“Carrie,” Kyle said, catching hold of her around the waist. “Let it go. It doesn’t matter.”
“But he’s got all our clothes.”
“We’ve got our lives.” Kyle’s few words put everything back into perspective.
Carrie didn’t know if it was by accident or design, but she found herself wrapped in Kyle’s arms. He was strong and solid and she clung to him. He held her tightly against him as if he were infinitely grateful to have her in his arms. Carrie knew this wasn’t necessarily true, but she didn’t care. In that moment they needed each other. Their differences meant nothing. Their pride was gone, wiped away by a narrow escape with fate and a felon on the run.
Kyle brushed the hair away from her temples and examined her face, checking to be sure she was unscathed. Perhaps he was studying her to be sure he was holding the same woman who’d irritated him all these months. Neither of them spoke. Together they trembled, two people who recognized how close they’d come to disaster and how fortunate they were to escape.
Their reprieve, however, didn’t last long. Within another minute they were surrounded by patrol cars. Doors flew open and officers leaped out, using their vehicles as protection and aiming their pistols in Carrie and Kyle’s direction.
“He went that way,” Carrie cried, pointing out the route of Billy Bob’s escape. No one there seemed to care. At least no one hurried after him, although she was certain one car and possibly two were still in pursuit of Billy Bob.
“We’re not armed,” Kyle announced authoritatively.
Two sheriff’s deputies stood and, while the others continued to train their weapons on Carrie and Kyle, instructed the pair to lean against the patrol car and spread-eagle their arms and legs.
“We’re not criminals,” Carrie said, fighting down her indignation. They were being treated as though they’d done something wrong.
“They’re clean,” the first officer announced.
“You can relax,” the second officer said.
“Who’s the man you’re after?” Kyle asked, the minute he turned around.
Before the deputy could respond, too plainclothes detectives stepped out of an unmarked car. The older man introduced himself and flashed his badge. “Sam Richards,” he said. “This is Agent Bates.”
Carrie only got a glimpse, just enough to realize his identification was unlike any other she’d seen. Sam Richards was a member of the Secret Service, although he looked more like a congenial television weatherman than a government agent.
“Billy Bob must have threatened the President,” Carrie mumbled disappointedly. She was convinced she’d seen him on television, but she couldn’t recall a single episode of
Unsolved Mysteries
that had profiled someone with his eye on assassination.
Richards exchanged glances with another one of the law enforcement officers. The agent’s bright blue eyes were what Carrie called catalog eyes. Her sister Cathie referred to them as bedroom eyes, but Carrie was a tad more conservative than her younger sister.
“We’d like to talk to you both,” Richards announced.
“Of course,” Kyle said.
“What for?” Carrie countered, unwilling to be subjected to much more of this. It was going to take more than a smile from Mr. Catalog Eyes to make up for the way they’d been treated thus far.
“Let’s go on over to the sheriff’s office,” Richards suggested. “Collins won’t mind.”
The agent had opted to ignore Carrie’s weak protest. He didn’t bother to answer her question either, she noted. Before she could press further, she was placed in the back seat of a patrol car and driven through the center of town.
It seemed Wheatland hadn’t seen such activity since last year’s Fourth of July parade. Curious townsfolk lined both sides of the streets. Mothers hid their babies’ faces, and men glared at them with narrowed, suspicious eyes. The town’s youth were braver; several leaned against the lampposts and stared openly as the four vehicles pulled into the angle parking outside the sheriff’s office.
Sam Richards held open the door to the office for her, and she stepped inside. It was like walking onto a television set from one of the old Andy Griffith
Mayberry RFD
shows. Clearly, Carrie had been watching too many reruns. The jail consisted of four cells, which were lined against one wall across from the sheriff’s desk. From what she could see, business was slack. The cells were empty.
Sheriff Collins’s desk stood behind a waist-high railing. A table and chairs dominated the remaining space. Once the three of them were inside the sheriff’s compact office, they sat around the table
and Carrie and Kyle took turns relaying the story of how they’d run into Billy Bob.
Sheriff Collins returned alone and whispered to the Secret Service agent as if he feared what might happen if Kyle and Carrie overheard him. From the hushed exchange she guessed that once again Billy Bob had slipped through the net of justice.
“It was all my fault that we left the interstate,” Carrie explained, once everyone had reconvened. “But I thought we’d save ourselves a few miles and take the scenic route.”
“All we got is wheat fields,” Sheriff Collins threw in, as if he found her explanation weak. He eyed her suspiciously, and Carrie eyed him right back.
“But they’re pretty wheat fields, and the road’s a whole lot more entertaining than the highway.”
“That’s when I ran over a rock,” Kyle cut in to explain. “It struck the undercarriage of my car, and the muffler and the exhaust pipe fell off.”
“Kyle was going to jog into town, but he didn’t.”
“Why not?” Again it was Sheriff Collins, who looked as if he wanted to throw them in jail now and ask questions later.
“Before I could leave—”
“You left,” Carrie corrected him, “then came back, remember?” She felt it was important to get every detail down exactly right the first time, otherwise there could be problems. Jessica Fletcher on
Murder, She Wrote
had solved entire mysteries on less.
“Why’d you return?” Richards asked, smiling encouragingly, as if they were all good friends.
Carrie wasn’t fooled, but she wasn’t so sure about Kyle. “Kyle wasn’t gone more than ten minutes.”
“Why’d he come back?” The room went still as if anticipating a confession, although she still hadn’t a clue as to what Billy Bob was said to have done.
“Carrie was worried about being left alone,” Kyle explained. She hadn’t looked at him in several minutes and feared he wasn’t overly pleased with her dragging in every detail of their story.
“He decided it would be better if we walked into town together,” Carrie supplied. “But before we started, Billy Bob stopped and offered us a ride.”
“His name’s Max Sanders.”
“Max Sanders,” Carrie repeated slowly, testing the name on her lips. It didn’t sound familiar.
“What’s he done?” Kyle asked.
“That’s not important just now.”
“It is if you plan to detain us,” Kyle continued smoothly, boldly confronting the Secret Service agent.
“Right,” Carrie said, quickly siding with Kyle. “We’re law-abiding citizens. We know our rights. It might be a good idea if we contact an attorney. What do you think, Kyle?”
“So you’ve had plenty of experience in dealing with the law, have you?” Sam Richards twisted a hardback chair around and straddled it.
“A little,” she said defiantly, wondering just how far
L.A. Law
episodes would take her. “I interviewed a police officer once. He was selling tickets to the annual charity ball.”
“We’re employed by KUTE radio in Kansas City,” Kyle explained. “If you check our identification, you’ll see we’re telling the truth.”
“What’s Max Sanders done to warrant your atten
tion?” Carrie asked again, eager for as many details as she could collect.
“Counterfeiting.”
“You mean he’s passing fake money?”
“You got it. I don’t suppose you’d mind showing us any money
you’re
carrying.”
“No problem,” Kyle said, reaching in his hip pocket for his wallet. He opened it and handed over several bills for their inspection.
Apparently Kyle’s money was good because they returned it after only a brief inspection. Because Kyle had been so willing to have his cash inspected, Carrie didn’t have any choice but to allow the police the same privilege with her.
“How much cash did you bring?” Kyle demanded when she handed over a small wad of bills.
“Enough,” she said, disliking his tone, “but my traveler’s checks are in my suitcases.”
Kyle briefly closed his eyes. “Mine too.”
So it was more than just their clothes Max had absconded with; he had their money as well.
“Can we go now?” Carrie asked, growing discouraged with the entire process. They’d cooperated to the best of their ability, but she was exhausted. They needed to decide what they were going to do without a car, money, or clothes.
“We can’t allow you to leave just yet,” Richards said apologetically.
“Why not?”
“We have a few questions left. It’d help us a great deal if you’d answer them.”