It was stepping-back time.
When a woman looked to you to take her life to save her from worse, it was past stepping-back time. Too much responsibility, he thought as he traveled the familiar road. Too intense. Too damn real. And why the hell had he promised he’d take care of her-because that’s just what he’d done. Something in the way she’d looked at him, he decided. Steady, calm as she’d asked him to end her life. She’d meant what she’d said, flat-out meant it. More, she’d trusted him to know she meant it.
Time for a conversation, he decided. Time to make sure they both understood exactly what was on the table, and what wasn’t. He didn’t want anyone depending on him.
He could ask himself why he hadn’t stayed over after the game, used the hotel room he’d booked. Why he hadn’t moved on the signals sent by the very appealing redhead who’d given him a good run for his money at the table. All things being equal, he should be enjoying a post-sex room-service breakfast with the redhead right about now. Instead he was, again, heading for the Hollow.
So he wouldn’t ask himself why. No point in asking when he didn’t want the answer.
He glanced in the rearview at the sound of the sirens, then took a casual glance down at the speedometer. Only about five over the posted limit, he noted, as he wasn’t in any hurry. He pulled over to the shoulder. He wasn’t surprised that the view in his side mirror showed him Derrick Napper climbing out of the cruiser.
Fucking Napper, who’d hated him, Cal, and Fox since childhood. And had made it his life’s work, so it seemed, to cause them trouble. Fox, particularly, Gage mused. But none of the three of them were immune.
Asshole likes to strut, Gage thought, as Napper did just that to cover the distance from the cruiser to Gage’s Ferrari. How the hell did they allow such a complete bastard to strap on a weapon and pin on a badge?
Cocking a hip, Napper leaned down, gave Gage a wide, white smile. “Some people think having a fancy machine gives them the right to break the law.”
“Some might.”
“You were speeding, boy.”
“Maybe.” Without being asked, Gage offered license and registration.
“What’d this thing set you back?”
“Just write the ticket, Napper.”
Napper’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You were weaving.”
“No,” Gage said with the same dead calm, “I wasn’t.”
“Driving erratically, speeding. You been drinking?”
Gage tapped the to-go cup in its holder. “Coffee.”
“I believe I smell alcohol on your breath. We take driving drunk serious around here, fuckhead.” He smiled when he said it. “I need you to step out of the car, take a test.”
“No.”
Napper’s hand dropped to the butt of his sidearm. “I said step out of the car, fucker.”
Baiting the hook, Gage thought. It was the sort of thing that too often worked on Fox. For himself, he’d just let Deputy Asshole play it out. Slowly, Gage took the keys out of the ignition. He stepped out, clicked the locks, all the while staring into Napper’s eyes. “I’m not taking a Breathalyzer, and it’s within my rights to refuse.”
“I say you stink of alcohol.” Napper jammed a finger into Gage’s chest. “I say you’re a lousy drunk, just like your old man.”
“Say anything you want. The opinions of dickheads don’t weigh much with me.”
Napper shoved Gage back against the car. Though Gage’s hands curled into fists, he kept them at his sides. “I say you’re drunk.” To punctuate it, Napper slammed his hand on Gage’s chest. “I say you resisted arrest. I say you assaulted an officer. We’ll see how much that weighs when you’re behind bars.” He shoved Gage again, grinned. “Chicken-shit bastard.” He pushed Gage around. “Spread ’em.”
Coolly, Gage laid his hands on the roof of the car as Napper frisked him. “You get off on that? Is that part of the perks?” He hissed in a breath, but stayed as he was when Napper rabbit-punched him.
“You shut the fuck up.” Wrenching Gage’s arms behind his back, Napper cuffed him. “Maybe we’ll take a little ride, you and me, before I put you in jail.”
“It’ll be interesting to hear you explain that, when I call in the six witnesses who drove by while you were rousting me. While you put hands on me while mine were at my sides. License numbers are in my head. I’m good with numbers.” He didn’t flinch when Napper pushed him violently against the car again. “And look, here comes another one.”
The approaching car slowed. Gage recognized it as Joanne Barry’s little hybrid. She stopped the car, rolled down the windows, and said, “Oh-oh.”
“You just drive on, Ms. Barry. This is police business.”
The disgusted look she sent Napper spoke volumes. “So I see. Need a lawyer, Gage?”
“Looks like. Why don’t you have Fox meet me at the police station.”
“I said you drive on!” Once again Napper’s hand went to the butt of his weapon. “Or do you want me to arrest you for interfering with an officer?”
“You always were a nasty little prick. I’ll call Fox, Gage.” She pulled her car to the shoulder, staring at Napper as she took out her cell phone.
On an oath, Napper pushed Gage in the back of the cruiser. Gage saw his eyes latch on to the rearview as he got behind the wheel. And saw the fury in them as Joanne followed the cruiser into town, and all the way to the police station.
Gage’s first twinge of fear came when both Joanne and Napper stepped out of their cars at the station, and he himself was locked inside the cruiser. No, no, he thought, witnesses here, too. Napper wouldn’t lay a hand on her and if he did…
But he saw only a brief exchange of words before Napper unlocked the backseat and hauled him out. Joanne marched straight inside, skirted Dispatch with a “Hey, Carla,” for the woman who sat there, then clipped to chief of police Wayne Hawbaker’s office. “I need to file a complaint against one of your deputies, Wayne. And you need to come out here, now.”
Just look at her, Gage thought. Wasn’t she something?
Hawbaker came out, looked from Joanne to Gage to Napper. “What seems to be the trouble?”
“I tagged this individual for speeding, reckless driving. I suspected he was driving under the influence. He refused to take a Breathalyzer, resisted, and took a swing at me.”
“Bullshit!”
“Joanne,” Hawbaker said quietly. “Gage?”
“I’ll cop to the speeding. I was about five over the limit. Joanne gave you the rest. It’s bullshit.”
Hawbaker’s steady stare gave nothing away. “You been drinking?”
“I had a beer about ten o’clock last night. That’s, what, about twelve hours ago?”
“He was driving erratically. Had an open container in the car.”
“I wasn’t driving erratically, and the open container was a goddamn go-coffee from Sheetz. Your boy here baited me, manhandled me, rabbit-punched me, cuffed me, and suggested we take a ride before he brought me in.”
Red flags of fury rode Napper’s cheeks. “He’s a lying sack.”
“My car’s on the side of the road,” Gage continued in the same even tone. “Just before Blue Mountain Lane, in front of a two-story redbrick house, white shutters, front garden. White Toyota hatchback in the driveway, Maryland vanity license plate reads Jenny4. Nice-looking brunette was out front gardening and saw it go down. You ought to check it out.” He looked back at Napper now, smiled easily. “You’re not very observant for a cop.”
“That’d be Jenny Mullendore.” Hawbaker studied Napper’s face. Whatever he saw in it had his jaw tightening. Before he could speak, Fox pushed through the door.
“Quiet,” he said, pointing a finger at Gage. “Why is my client in handcuffs?” he demanded.