They threw their bags and the huge snack into the back seat, Maude gave them each a hug and then they climbed into the Camaro.

Maude leaned into the car through Shea's rolled-down window. "I'll expect to be invited to the wedding," she said with a prim smile.

"Wedding?" Shea asked, casting Nick a quick and terrified glance.

Maude shook her finger at Nick. "There had better be a wedding." She nodded her head in finality. "I'll have Abigail paint you some fruit as a wedding present."

Nick started the loud engine and carefully pulled the car out of the garage. Maude followed, waving enthusiastically, and Shea put on her seat belt.

As soon as the opportunity arose, he'd dump her. It didn't matter where or when, but it was time. Shea Sinclair, weathergirl, had all the story she was going to get out of him.

Chapter 12.

N ick was too quiet, his attention on the road ahead, his mind elsewhere. He was probably nervous about what would happen once they reached Huntsville. Hiding in Marion had been nice, but they'd both known it wouldn't last.

But Shea did wish he would turn his head now and then and give her an encouraging smile, that he would take her hand and acknowledge, in some small way, that what had happened last night and this morning had been extraordinary. Spectacular and life-altering.

Loving Nick was going to change her life in so many ways, she couldn't begin to count them.

She hoped he hadn't been frightened by Maude's comment about a wedding. Maude was a sweetheart, but she was also very old-fashioned. She knew, thanks to Shea's interfering brothers and the telltale condom wrappers, that she and Nick had slept together. In Maude's mind that was probably grounds for an immediate wedding.

Shea lifted her chin defiantly. She was more modern than Maude, more worldly wise. Times had changed.

But a small chapel would be nice, she thought warmly. Just close friends and family, of course. Tulips instead of roses, if the season was right. Candles, of course, and lots of greenery. They could play Martha Reeves at the reception and she could wake up next to Nick every day for the rest of her life.

And he thought she would make a great mother! The kids she'd never really wanted seemed real to her now, necessary and inevitable. Nick's babies, dark-haired children who would fulfill his dreams and hers. Dreams she'd never known she had. Maybe, if she played everything right, she could have it all.

Shea shook off the thoughts, wondering where on earth they'd come from. Nick had never said anything to her about a permanent relationship. He had never even mentioned the word married, except in relation to that femme fatale Lauren.

They'd been traveling all morning, and the tension in the car was so thick she could almost reach out and touch it. Of course the tension was thick! They were driving into battle, and the rest of their lives depended on the outcome.

"Where will we go first?" she asked.

Nick didn't even turn his head in her direction as he answered. "I'm going to drop you off near the I-65 interchange," he said in an apathetic voice. "After that, it's best you don't know where I go."

He was trying to keep her from the battle that was still to come, even though she'd told him she didn't need any man to protect her. "You'll need my help," she insisted softly.

Nick turned to look at her then, planting icy blue eyes on her face. "No," he said coldly. "I don't need you. I used you to get safely away and you cared for me while my leg was healing. Other than that..." He returned his eyes to the road.

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Nick had just basically told her that he was finished with her. That he didn't need or want her around.

"What about that state trooper?" she asked, a hint of panic welling up inside her. "He saw me. I can't just show up at work tomorrow morning as if nothing happened."

"Deny everything," Nick said succinctly. "There are no pictures and he didn't get the license plate number off the truck." He picked up speed and changed lanes sharply. "I have no doubt that you can make a complete fool of any man who dares to disagree with you."

This time she heard it. There was anger in his voice, a sharp, biting fury.

"What's wrong?"

"My life is in a shambles and you ask me what's wrong?"

"No, what's wrong with us?"

He looked at her again and gave her a cold, cynical smile. "Honey, there is no us. If you think last night changed things, you really are a virgin."

She felt like he'd stomped on her chest, knocked the breath from her lungs and ripped out her heart.

"Did you think that because we had s.e.x I'd let you tag along to the end of the story?" he asked, returning his eyes to the road. "h.e.l.l, weathergirl, if you wave condoms in any man's face and tell him you've got an itch that needs to be scratched, it'll get scratched. You don't really have to have the condoms, but it does show a man that your intentions are serious and you're safety conscious. Men appreciate that in a woman."

"Last night wasn't ... like that."

"Of course it was," he said calmly. "But last night is over and I've got things to do."

"I could help," she began, her heart sinking.

"I don't want your help, weathergirl."

Too soon they reached the Huntsville-Decatur exit. Nick took the exit too fast, speeding down the ramp and taking the road to Huntsville. He hadn't gone far before he turned off the pavement, guiding the car onto the shoulder.

Shea didn't move. He couldn't be serious. This was some kind of sick joke.

"I'm not leaving," she said softly, her eyes on a car that sped past.

Nick reached past her, grabbed the door handle and threw the pa.s.senger door open. He reached into the back seat and grabbed the duffel bag that had her borrowed clothes in it, and he tossed it in front of her and out the open door. The bag landed on a patch of soft gra.s.s.

"The last time I tried to let you go I didn't have the physical strength to force you from the car," he said softly. "Today I do. Don't make me drag you out of your seat and dump you in that ditch over there."

With a sinking heart she realized he was serious. She wanted to believe that his intentions were n.o.ble, that he loved her and didn't want her involved any further ... but Nick was a terrible liar, and there was no love or n.o.bility in his voice or his eyes. He was done with her, and there was nothing she could do but walk away with what little dignity she had left intact.

"What do you want me to tell the police?"

"I don't care what you tell them."

Shea took a deep breath and left the car. She would not cry in front of Nick. She would not beg him to take her along.

"Be careful," she said, slamming the door and leaning in through the open window.

"You, too."

"You know where to find me, if you need me," she said, feeling pathetic as the words left her mouth.

"Thanks, but I won't be needing you." He put the car in gear and turned his attention to the highway, so Shea stepped away from the car and picked up her bag. She watched as Nick pulled the Camaro onto the highway and sped away, and then she started walking.

* * * He'd love to go to his house, sit in the upstairs window and watch the neighbors and see what was going on there. But he didn't dare. The Feds or the local cops were probably watching the house, as well as his old office and the homes of anyone he'd called friend during his years in Huntsville.

Like it or not, he missed Shea already. He hadn't had any choice but to turn her loose, but still he missed her. No one would ever know he was so foolish.

Wearing the baseball cap low to disguise his face, he drove to a deserted warehouse at the south end of town. He'd once bought plumbing fixtures here, before the place went out of business. He parked Maude's Camaro out back, where it was hidden from the street, and walked around the building until he found an unlocked window. Like Shea's brother Boone, he wasn't about to let a locked door keep him out.

His investigating would have to wait until dark, when he would be less recognizable driving around town in the Camaro. There wasn't a soul in Huntsville who hadn't seen his face a thousand times. He could get busted sitting at a red light, if he wasn't careful.

He found a chair, abandoned because it didn't sit steady on the ground, and sat, extending his leg to rest on an empty crate. His leg was better, but it wasn't completely healed by any means. The ache went deep, and he wondered if it would ever go away.

He wondered if he'd live long enough to completely recover.

* * * Shea's head buzzed, her stomach churned and she'd been asked so many questions nothing made sense anymore. She was tired, she was hungry and she wanted a long, hot bath and a nap, if she could manage to sleep ever again.

She sat in a padded blue chair in the detective's office, but it was a group of FBI agents who continuously asked the questions. They leaned over her, they paced, they asked the same questions again and again. Where had she been for the past week? Why had Taggert dropped her off so close to home? Had she been acquainted with Taggert before the alleged kidnapping?

The "alleged" made her head swim again. Some of the eyes that bored into her were not friendly. They were accusing. Suspicious.

Tired beyond tired, hurting deep inside and afraid to show it, Shea lifted her head and saw a familiar face on the other side of the room.

She raised her hand to quiet the herd, steeled her heart against the tears that constantly threatened and said, "You guys are making me sick. I'll answer questions, but only if he asks them. I'll only talk to him."

The FBI agents turned their heads in unison, and Luther lifted a hand to his chest. "Me?"

She nodded.

The FBI agent who had been asking most of the questions tried to dissuade her with a smile, then stern disapproval, then thinly veiled threats. She would not be dissuaded.

Finally they relented.

Luther took her arm and led her into a cool, quiet office. As he closed the door on the unhappy FBI agents, Shea glanced around, searching for a two-way mirror. She didn't see anything to make her think she and Luther weren't completely alone.

He leaned against the door and sighed, weary and disapproving. His white dress shirt was slightly rumpled, his navy blue tie loosened and the jacket of his dark gray suit swung open to show off the badge on his belt and the shoulder holster and smallish gun. He was the picture-perfect homicide detective, skeptical and hard and basically good.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded and took the chair before a wide desk piled high with manila folders and office memos. A huge jar of jelly beans added the only color to the messy desk.

Luther crossed the room and propped his leg against the desk, placing himself just a little bit too close to her. He wasn't as broad as Nick, but he was definitely as tall. He knew how to use his size to intimidate.

In his best cop voice he asked, "Why don't you just tell me what happened?"

In the quiet of the cool office, looking up at a familiar face, Shea felt the buzzing in her head finally start to fade. Her stomach quit churning. "He's innocent."

Luther emitted a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a snarl.

"He panicked after the trial and ran. Surely you can understand that."

It was clear that Luther did not understand. "If he was innocent he could've gone through the proper channels to prove it. His lawyer could've filed an appeal-"

"His lawyer is currently engaged to the woman who was his girlfriend at the time of the murder," Shea snapped.

"So I understand," Luther said with a sigh.

"Besides, why would a man who's spent ten months in jail and then gets convicted of a crime he didn't commit trust the system?" She gave Luther her most determined glare.

"Because the system is all we've got."

Shea sighed in turn. Maybe talking to Luther wasn't such a good idea, after all. He was too darn stubborn.

"Where have you two been?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said, staring at the jar of jelly beans.

"You don't know?"

"I was blindfolded."

Luther reached into the jar of jelly beans and drew out a handful. She declined when he offered the colorful palmful to her. "I talked to Lenny," he said as he popped one into his mouth.

Her heart leaped. "Lenny who?"

Luther smiled. "He told me everything."

Shea sighed. "Why would you believe the ramblings of a half-blind old man-"

"How did you know he was a half-blind old man if you never met him?"

Shea bit back a curse and refused to answer. "Okay," Luther said casually. "Let's change the subject. Where is Taggert now?"

"I don't know."

"Which direction did he head in after he dropped you off?"

She didn't hesitate, since she'd antic.i.p.ated this question. "He got back on the interstate and headed north. He mentioned an old army buddy who has a ranch in Montana. He might be headed there."

"Montana," Luther said lifelessly. "I don't suppose he mentioned this army buddy's name."

"No."

"What was he driving?"

"The truck he ... he borrowed from Lenny. He painted the blue part white, though, so it would look different." Ha! Let them try to stop every old white truck on the highway! That would keep them all busy for a while.

Luther popped a red jelly bean into his mouth. "Have you been reading the papers? Surely you have. Surely you read that a state trooper saw you very willingly traveling with Taggert just hours after the kidnapping. He said that the two of you were very friendly. Shea, you're in a world of trouble."

She turned her most innocent gaze to him. "He's mistaken."

Luther did not believe her, but somehow she had to make him believe. If the cops stayed all over her, if she was subjected to days of questioning, how could she investigate the murder? "Taggert stole a truck, blindfolded me and took me to goodness knows where. He never threatened me, he never hurt me and I believe he's innocent of the crime he was convicted of."