In the Running Page 8

  “For now,” he said, cradling her face between his hands and lowering his head to take her mouth. If she wouldn’t give him the facts, he would do some digging of his own.

  Her soft lips parted. When he stroked her full lower lip with his tongue, she moaned softly and met his tongue with hers. The taste of her tart sweetness confirmed what he had already feared. He wasn’t going to get Reenie out of his system any time soon. The embers that they had banked a few hours ago burst into flame. As their tongues plunged and danced, he pulled her tight against him.

  “Matt,” she breathed. His name on her lips was the most erotic thing he’d ever heard.

  Her body was warm and yielding. Matt moaned her name and lifted her against him. Her hips began to rock slowly against him. He ground his urgent hardness against her to ease the ache. It helped, but only for a moment. He needed … he needed … her.

  He had to slow down. Reenie deserved better than the fast wild coupling his libido was hurtling them towards. He hardly recognized himself in this out-of-control animal who was about to take advantage of a woman who had been through the emotional and physical trauma that Reenie had. Where was his brain? He didn’t even have protection for her.

  She stiffened in his arms.

  “Reenie?” he rasped as he raised his mouth from hers.

  “I’m sorry.” Her deep blue eyes were dark with passion and shaded with regret.

  “Don’t!” Matt placed his index finger softly on her lips. “Don’t say that. You just aren’t ready for the next step.”

  “I wish,” she whispered. “I wish things were different.”

  “They will be,” he said. “We will make love, you know. Long, slow, mind-bending love. When the time is right.”

  The pictures those words conjured up almost snapped his control. He made himself release her and walked over to a window that faced the house.

  “I see that Ames’ car is gone. Shall we go back and tell Pete you like the apartment?” he suggested. “Better give me a minute to get presentable first,” he added a bit selfconsciously. “You have a powerful effect on me, little one.”

  When they reached the house, they walked in on Pete’s announcement that he was moving back home.

  “I know you always hate changing your plans, Bronwyn,” he was saying. “But I refuse to be babysat by Donna Franklin.”

  “Have it your own way, Dad,” Bronwyn snapped. “But Reenie’s not a hundred per cent herself. Maybe she’s not up to looking after a grumpy old man. How much pressure did you put on her?”

  “None at all,” Reenie answered for him. “I’m happy to do something to repay you for letting me stay here while I recuperate.”

  “Reenie thinks the apartment will suit her fine,” Matt announced cheerfully. “There’s not much to do to get it ready. I can give it a good cleaning. The phone and electricity are already hooked up.”

  “The move will go smooth as silk, Bronwyn,” her father assured her. “You can concentrate on getting organized to go to work on Monday. Saturday, Gus will give Matt a hand moving me home and Reenie into the apartment.”

  “It won’t take much to move me,” Maura said quietly. “Everything went up with the car.”

  The empty trunk of the Buick flashed through Matt’s mind. Wherever Reenie’s possessions were, they’d never been in that car.

  “I’ll get some linens out for you, Matt.” Bronwyn capitulated graciously. “Make sure you get the extra television set that the summer help usually use from the basement. The kitchen should be pretty well equipped. Just let me know what else you need, Reenie. I’m afraid my clothes would be miles too big for you,” she said, ruefully. “We can shop tomorrow. They should have most anything you need in town.”

  “I’d appreciate that, Bronwyn,” Maura said.

  “I’ll take her,” Matt said. It wasn’t a suggestion. “Make a list, Reenie. I’ll take you to Millbridge to shop for essentials tomorrow. We can go farther, if you need to, in a day or two.

  “Tell me, Wyn, what did Ames have to say about Jon Casen’s cop out?”

  “According to Walt,” Bronwyn began slowly, “it wasn’t a cop out. It was a shrewd tactical move. Someone leaked word to Jon that Judge Marchand who was going to deal with the application had become hostile to GEL and wasn’t going to grant the injunction. As the old judge is about to announce his retirement, Jon decided we’d be better to whip up as much anti-VitaChem publicity as possible over the next few weeks and hope to get a more sympathetic judge when we apply later.”

  “Do you believe that?” Pete asked. “The papers seem to think Casen caved in to his girlfriend’s kidnappers.”

  “I don’t know,” Bronwyn said slowly. “Walt said all he knew was that Jon is terribly upset and refuses to talk about a kidnapping. He’s gone to Lansing to be with his fiancée’s grandmother while they wait for news. She’s Governor Fitzpatrick’s widow, you know.”

  Gran must be frantic. Maura couldn’t let her go on thinking she was in the hands of kidnappers who might kill her at any minute. Maybe she could call from a payphone when she was in town with Matt tomorrow. Damn! Gran had call display on her telephone. No matter where Maura called from, Jon would know immediately where she was.

  “I know who Glad Fitzpatrick is,” Pete stated indignantly. “Thought she was too smart an old bird to have anything to do with Casen’s kind. Old Governor George, now, was an honest politician.” He snorted. “If you can use those two words side by side.”

  “I told you I wasn’t going to argue with you about Jon Casen any more.” Bronwyn glared at him.

  From the devilish gleam in his eye, Maura could tell Pete enjoyed needling his daughter.

  “I know you think he’s a fine man, Wyn, but he’s too slick for me,” Pete asserted. “Can’t trust a politician who likes to pose as the public’s conscience.”

  “Is that your roundabout way of telling me you’re going break your promise to Walt to set up the telephone fan out that’s supposed to test the new GEL hot line?”

  “Hell, no, girl. I haven’t got anything against GEL. And I don’t mind helping find the Fitzpatrick girl. I can have the fan out to all GEL members set up in a couple of days.”

  Obviously pleased at having put her father on the defensive, Bronwyn flashed Maura a smug smile. But Maura was too stunned to appreciate the verbal sparring the Hanson family seemed to enjoy.

  “What does that have to do with the Fitzpatrick girl?” Maura was surprised at how disinterested she sounded.

  “Walt suggested we ask the members to call if they thought they’d seen her,” Bronwyn replied. “That way we can test the new hot line and maybe find the woman at the same time.”

  “That kind of help could get her killed!” Matt exclaimed. “We don’t know what the deal is with the kidnappers.”

  “That’s what I said,” Bronwyn agreed. “But then Walt said he was sure the kidnapping rumor started with a crank call. Some man did call Gladys Fitzpatrick but there’s been no follow-up.

  “Walt is pretty sure that Maura Fitzpatrick overreacted to a difference of opinion she had with Jon and ran off. Apparently, she’s been having some emotional problems. Walt says they have to find her before she does herself some harm. Something he said made me think she might even have some kind of drug problem.”

  “There’s a real fishy smell to this whole business,” Pete proclaimed. “Every news report raises more questions. Now there’s that boss of hers who’s supposed to be scouting properties in the Caribbean but can’t be reached. Last I heard, they had telephones in the Caribbean. Yep, real fishy.”

  Maura watched Matt nod his head in agreement. Would he believe her if she told him how many lies had just been told?

  Chapter Eight

  Matt wasn’t surprised that Reenie had avoided him ever since they broke off that superheated kiss in the apartment yesterday afternoon. He’d been feeling a little gun-shy himself. Before the sun was completely up this morning, he’d grabbed a couple of the carr
ot muffins Reenie had made after dinner and a thermos of coffee and headed for the boathouse and solitude. Gus wouldn’t be arriving for a couple of hours.

  If he’d been able to get Reenie to reveal anything definite about the low-life who was threatening her, he’d be tempted to involve Gus. As it was, he knew nothing. Besides, he’d told Reenie he wouldn’t talk to the police without warning her.

  Maybe he would try again to get her to talk to him when he took her to town this afternoon. In the meantime, he needed this time to get his own head together. Something significant was happening between them. Her response to him had been so sweet, so full of fire. She was also fragile right now and reluctant to trust anyone. When he saw her jump at every shadow, everything in him wanted to hold her and comfort her. When the time was right, they were going to enjoy the hottest and maybe the longest lasting relationship he’d ever been part of. For now, he definitely needed to get involved in some heavy physical labor.

  The Sailing Solution’s hull was roughed up and ready for another coat of varnish and he was ready for company by the time he heard the hinges of the boathouse door give their usual squeak.

  “It’s Lindberg with the serum,” Gus announced cheerfully, plunking a large basket on the worktable. “I went looking for you at the house and Reenie insisted I bring hot coffee and muffins.”

  Reenie! He could imagine her alarm when the sheriff knocked at her door. Gus had known damn well Matt wouldn’t be there.

  Gus’ shrewd brown eyes didn’t give away a thing. His face projected his usual affable good humor. Freckled and redheaded, Gus had the perfect looks for a small town sheriff. His husky build made him look shorter than his six feet and his laid-back manner caused most people to underestimate both his toughness and his intelligence.

  “I should have known Bronwyn would call you.”

  “Yeah, she told me you were starting a women’s shelter.” Gus took a large bite of carrot muffin and chewed it slowly. “Good,” he commented. “What’s the story?”

  “Not much of a story.”

  As he laid out brushes and cans of spar varnish, Matt described briefly the events from the time Leigh’s trailer hitch snapped to the explosion of Reenie’s car.

  “She isn’t going to make a claim on the insurance,” he concluded.

  Gus reached for another muffin and stared intently at him. After a few seconds, he picked up the thermos and asked, “Aren’t you going to have some of this coffee?”

  Relieved that Gus was going to leave the subject of reporting the accident in abeyance, Matt grinned at him.

  “Hey, I thought you came over here to work, not gobble up the treats our new housekeeper cooked up for me.”

  “Housekeeper, is it?” Gus matched his grin.

  “She was looking for work as kitchen help at one of the ski lodges and Pete offered her the job,” Matt volunteered.

  “Should work out well with Wyn going back to work.”

  Gus and Wyn had been close friends long before she’d been swept off her feet by Phil Cooper. Since Phil’s fatal snowmobile accident three years ago, Gus had made no secret that he wanted more than friendship from Matt’s stubborn older sister.

  Gus ambled over to pick up a brush, signaling that this phase of the informal interrogation was over.

  “Oh, I was told to remind you to please call Sandy Field.”

  “I was hoping she’d give up. I’m not interested in renewing old friendships.”

  Gus guffawed. “Hey, you had something going back when she was eighteen and pudgy. What have you got against thirty-four and sexy?”

  “We were both quiet and lonely then. From what Wyn tells me, Sandra is much more out-going now.”

  “Well,” Gus gave him a weary bachelor grin. “Since her second divorce, she’s making sure the single men around know she’s still lonely. But from what she told me, old buddy, she seems to think you have the solution to her problem.”

  Matt’s expletive was short and explicit.

  They worked in companionable silence for an hour or more, with only the occasional exclamation about how great the hull was looking or conjecture about Green Bay’s chances this season. Eventually, Matt maneuvered the topic to Gus’ workload. Gus monologued from then on.

  “Now somebody is putting on a lot of pressure about finding that missing Fitzpatrick woman. Nobody’s seen her in this county. From her pictures, I’d say she’d be noticed. Besides, they found her car in the airport parking lot at Grand Rapids. My bet is she’s a long way from here.”

  “I thought she’d been kidnapped,”

  “Possibly. Haven’t heard a word about that except in the media. Of course, kidnapping’s FBI. They don’t inform us.” He snorted. “Unless they have to.”

  “Guess there are a lot of missing females you’re supposed to track down for one reason or another,” Matt prompted.

  “Not since the middle of the summer.”

  Gus went off on a long involved tale about a woman bank robber who had chosen his county to disappear into last July. He was no help at all.

  At noon, Reenie called to tell them lunch was on the table. When they got there, she had her funny little half-glasses perched on her nose and was about to ladle out large bowls of vegetable soup to go with the platter of sandwiches she’d laid out. They were just sitting down when the telephone rang. Matt picked up the kitchen extension.

  “Ryan,” he exclaimed when the caller identified himself. “I thought you’d be up here by now. You’ll have missed the whole hunting season if you don’t get a move on.” He listened. “Of course, I’m still interested.” He gave a low whistle. “1932!”

  At the sight of the boyish grin that lit his face, Maura’s heart swelled. No! She wasn’t falling for him. Not now.

  “I can’t be there Saturday. That’s the day Pete’s moving back home. If Eddie will hold on to it, I can go see him early next week. Well, if he’s heading South on Sunday,” Matt decided, “I guess I’ll have to fly over to meet him this afternoon. Thanks Ryan. I’ll call him right away.”

  “Ryan located a real sextant for you,” Gus guessed as Matt put down the receiver.

  “It sounds real, all right,” Matt gloated. “Brass. Off a 1932, steel-hulled, ocean-going ketch that’s sailed every one of the seven seas. Edmonson picked the sextant up a while ago but just heard I was looking for one. Trouble is he’s leaving Manitowoc for his winter place in Florida and closing up the shop on Saturday.”

  He was heading out of the kitchen when he turned and said, “Go ahead and pour my soup, Reenie. Eddie’s number is on the pad in the study. Be back in a minute.”

  Maura wanted to beg him not to leave her alone with Gus. Under different circumstances, she’d probably like Gus Schroeder. His ruddy face was pleasant, and his easy laugh sounded sincere. But he was in law enforcement, and she’d fled a murder scene.

  When she imagined the questions the sheriff could logically ask her, she realized that she had no answers prepared about where she’d been living or working. She’d tell him Detroit. Until the last eighteen months, that’s where she had worked. She’d simply be vague about names and people … if he let her.

  “Mattias is like a kid about that sailboat of his.” Gus leaned back in his chair and chuckled indulgently. “When we were younger, he and Ryan and I did a lot of day dreaming about roaming around the world in that kind of boat. Now that Matt’s quit his Washington job, and he’s his own boss, looks like he may just do it one of these days.”

  She hadn’t thought of Matt as a rambler. He seemed such a solid, rooted kind of man. Maybe her own needs had invented the man, projected him like a warm, sexy hologram.

  “Would you like your soup now, Gus?” she asked, turning back to the stove.

  “Might as well. I have to get back to the office this afternoon.” He accepted the bowl and reached for a sandwich.

  “Matt tells me you’re looking for work in the area.”

  “She’s found it,” Matt told him, dropping in
to his place at the table. “Try that soup, Gustav, and tell me if you’d let her look anywhere else. Oh, thanks, Reenie.”

  He took a bite out of a thick ham sandwich. “What do you say we skip Millbridge and pick up the things you need in Manitowoc this afternoon?”

  “Manitowoc, Wisconsin? Today? It’s already after noon, Matt.”

  “A friend of mine keeps a small plane at the Mount Pleasant airport. He’s having it fuelled up for me as we speak.” His eyes were shining with excitement. “If you want to come along, you’ll have to hurry.”

  Finally, something was going her way. If she called Gran from Wisconsin, Jon would assume she was heading west, the opposite direction from Houghton Lake. She turned off the stove.

  “I’ll be ready before you finish your lunch,” she said.

  “I’ll clear things away in here,” Matt said, taking a huge bite of his sandwich.

  “I expect that means me.” Gus made a show of finishing his soup. “I know when I’ve been told to clear out. See you soon, Reenie,” he called after her.

  Even knowing that Gus’ questions were only postponed didn’t quell the surge of excitement Maura felt at the prospect of flying off into the unknown with Matt. She hoped he’d be wrapped up enough in the prospect of buying his new toy to forget his own questions. She could use a few lighthearted moments. Probably he could too.

  Maura felt as if she really was Reenie Kelly this afternoon as she and Matt strode towards the little red and white, twin-engined Cessna. She sure wasn’t the well-groomed Maura Fitzpatrick she’d been since she was twelve years old. She was wearing her own shoes and jeans, a white turtleneck of Bronwyn’s that was miles too big, a navy sweatshirt of Pete’s that was even bigger, and, over it all, Bronwyn’s old red corduroy jacket. Her dyed brown hair was neat enough. At least, the parts that weren’t sticking up straight around the bandage were fairly smooth. As she looked through her garish dark glasses at the little airfield with its unbelievable number of small planes, she wished she really were Reenie.

  The only person in Reenie’s fictional world was the abusive fiancé she’d had a major fight with. Reenie could choose to have a wild fling with Matt Hanson. She could even fall in love if she wanted to. She could sic the police on her ex and build some kind of future for herself anywhere, in Millbridge or in Timbuktu.