Chapter 16

Damn, damn, damn! Today of all days. Her dependable little Neon had to pull something like this. She slammed the car door shut and reached carefully for the hood latch. Steam was billowing out from around the hood of the car, a red light was blaring at her on the dash, and she was way out in the back of nowhere, on a short cut she had taken hundreds of times and never had another thought about.

She burned herself on the steam as she finally found the latch and yanked her hand out, sticking her abused fingers in her mouth. She wanted to kick the car, to take three steps back and empty the clip of her gun into it's sassy red grill.

Her day had been shit to start and had gone downhill from there. And worse, the highlight of her day had been getting hit on by a FBI agent. A very personable, handsome, well put together agent, but a fed after all.

She went and sat down in her car, nursing her injured hand. Her mother had always told her that when she burned her fingers to grab her earlobe, something about the oils helping the pain. It might be an old wives' tale, but she did it anyway.

She would let the engine cool down a little and then try again to lift the hood, assess the damage and see if she could persuade the little car to limp into town. If not, she would call a tow truck. That is if she could get a signal this far out in the sticks. Damn, she thought. I just jinxed myself.

She let her fingers quit throbbing, feeling stupid about holding her earlobe but doing it anyway. It did make them feel better, whether it was the oils or just the fact that it was something her mom believed in, she didn't know and really didn't much care right now.

The engine was cooling somewhat. She could hear the little tick, tick, tick noise it made. It was soothing, something normal. Okay, kiddo, let's try it again, she told herself.

She managed to put the hood up without burning herself again and tried to look smart as she analyzed engine parts. She hadn't been a gear head. Her brother had been into cars. She had been into spy movies, pistols and boys. Now she wished she had spent more time with Ryan outside, getting her fingers all coated with oil and grease. Maybe she would know what to do now.

She knew that steam probably meant something was wrong with the radiator. And that the radiator was that thing right in the front of the engine, the box like thing that had the funny cap on it. She put her hand on the cap and pulled it off right away, swearing. Still too hot to open.

She went to her back seat and grabbed one of the towels she had thrown back there the other day when she had decided to go running. Folding it up, she used it to try to open the radiator, backing up as it hissed alarmingly.

And she backed right into something solid that had arms. The arms wrapped around her, keeping her from stumbling.

"Whoa." He put her at arm's length and she turned around quickly, her hand reaching under her suit coat for the handle of her weapon.

The man put his hands up and smiled, a quite engaging smile. "Don't shoot, Deputy Parsons. I saw you had your hood open, thought you might need some help."

She studied him quickly, police training taking in details. He was mid to late thirties, good looking in a stylish, New York way that did nothing for her. Tailored dark gray dress pants, black belt, light blue dress shirt that was opened at the neck. No tie and no suit coat. They must be in the car that was parked behind hers. Now how hadn't she heard that car?

And he was familiar. Her mind raced to place him, to put a name to the face. The task force, he was with the CA. Name? Alexander Maxim. That was it.

"Thank you, Mr. Maxim. It seems my car has over heated. I was just trying to see if I might be able to get it to limp the last five miles or not." She laughed, a little nervous about being taken so much by surprise. "I guess I should have spent more time with cars. I can break into one but know next to nothing about what makes them run."

He was rolling up his sleeves. "Yeah, my sister is the same way. She wouldn't know which part of the engine the oil went in and which part the antifreeze went in." He peered into the engine, taking the towel she had started to use and opening the radiator cap. The engine seemed to hitch and then gurgle. To Michelle, it seemed like her car was saying good bye.

"Well?" she asked nervously, peering over his shoulder.

He looked at her, shook his head sadly and backed away from the car. He put his hand on her shoulder, a man about to deliver terrible news striving to do it in as pleasant a way as possible.

"It's the radiator. I think it will need a tow. But I think they can fix her up just as good as new." He smiled at her, showing lots of teeth.

The man must have spent a fortune on dental work, she thought, and whitening strips.

"Thanks for looking at her." She reached into her pocket and came up with her cell phone, flipping it open and pushing the on button. It beeped at her, whined and then clicked, but after hitting auto dial and the mechanics number that her father had programmed into the phone, there was nothing but dead air. She moved a few steps away and tried again. Nothing.

She felt like hurling the damn thing against the nearest tree, an impulse she had to fight to curb. She was tired, confused to her very soul about a stubborn detective and her feelings toward him, irritated by departmental snobbery and sick of things breaking down on her. If she didn't have a witness, she might very well have sat on the side of the dirt road and cried her eyes out.

Her witness had moved to the passenger side of his car and was standing there, ready to open the door for her. "Allow me, Deputy. You can't get a decent signal out here. It's all these trees." He looked up, his face shadowed by the dense foliage.

For just the instant he stood there, Michelle felt a lurch of fear. He didn't look quite right. Something about his face, his eyes maybe. But the instant past and he was looking at her again. Had she really seen something there? Or maybe it was murderer on the mind and she was being too suspicious of every man.

She slammed the hood of her car, reached in the glove compartment and pulled out her ASP, a police baton that telescoped out with a snap of her wrist, then locked the doors, pocketing the keys and the weapon. She walked over to him and let him help her into his low slung sports car.

Wow, the rich lived well, she thought, running her hand over the butter soft leather seat. The stereo had more buttons on it than the space shuttle. He got into the driver seat and smiled at her.

"Nice car," she said.

"It gets me where I need to go." He started the engine, a quiet purr that could barely be heard. She watched as he shifted gears, his hands and feet moving together gracefully. He pulled onto the road with barely a jerk, and took off.

"I'm surprised you would take a car that probably costs more than I make in a year down a road like this. There's more pot holes then dirt out here."

He glanced over at her, smiling. "I like the challenge." He shifted gears and drove effortlessly, one hand on the wheel, the other banging out a rhythm that only he could hear on the gear shift. "Am I being interrogated, Deputy?"

Michelle refused to blush at his scrutiny and she also refused to be put off.

"Not an interrogation, sir. I was just wondering how you happened by this dark stretch of road so fortuitously." Damn now that sounded pompous.

"Fortuitously?" he asked grinning.

"My big word for the day," she grumbled back. "I don't know many people who'd drive this road if they didn't have to."

"Well, Deputy, I live out this way."

"Going home all ready? Maybe I should get a job with the City Attorney's office. Much better hours than what I work."

He clucked his tongue. "This is sounding more and more like an interrogation. Should I get a lawyer?" he asked, tongue in cheek.

"No, just mark it down as my having an over active curiosity. If I was interrogating you, I would probably be getting out my ASP." She pulled it out of her pocket, letting the weapon open itself up in her palm. "Does wonders for making bad guys talk."

"I didn't know they were giving deputies such brutal weapons," he asked laughing as he looked over at the police baton. He watched her compress it back and put it back into her pocket.

"They aren't. This was a present from my father." She looked him steadily in the eye, still wondering why this man gave her such a case of the creeps. "Call it personal protection."

She waited half a beat and then continued. "So, Mr. Maxim. Why were you out here on this rutted back road, in this beautiful sports car, in the middle of the work day, Johnny on the spot to help me out?"

He laughed, he couldn't help it. She was incorrigible. She would be something on the witness stand.

"My wife is pregnant with our first. We have our first ultrasound today." He steered around a particularly bad stretched of road. "I'm heading on my way to pick her up."

Why didn't that answer make her feel any better, she wondered, even as she congratulated him.

She was still wondering ten minutes later when he dropped her off at the garage where she got most of the work done on her car. He had been very polite, very nice. He had even offered to make sure she got back to town. He seemed like what he was on the surface, but Michelle would bet that down underneath, something was there. He just didn't feel right to her.

She arranged the tow, argued fruitlessly with the mechanic for fifteen minutes about a loaner and finally gave up. She flipped open her phone and hit the

automatic dial up number for Nick.

When he answered, her heart sped up.

"Saint."

"I could use one right now," she said into the phone.

"Michelle?"

Was it her imagination or did he actually sound happy to hear her voice. She hoped so.

"What could you use right now?"

He sounded confused. Good, if she had to be so confused about her feelings for him, he deserved to be too.

"A saint." Maybe the saint of undersexed, underpaid, overworked deputies that were falling in love with their bosses.

"Where are you?"

Was that exasperation? God, she knew that feeling. She was exasperated with the entire day. She wanted to go back to the exact hour that she had fallen asleep in his arms and forget about answering her phone when it rang.

"Sitting in a garage. My car broke down. I have to call and arrange a loaner with a rental company so I might be a while getting back." Don't offer, she begged silently. Don't you dare offer.

"How about I come and pick you up?"

Damn him. "Not necessary, you've got work to do there. I just wanted to let you know what was up. I haven't even made it to pick up the key yet."

"Nonsense, I just got out of the interview with the Meridians. A more heartbroken couple I have never seen." She could hear the sadness in his voice. "I can come and get you. We could even go and pick up the key before heading back. That should give you time to find out about how long they'll have your car, right?"

She could hear the sound of a car door shut over the phone connection and the growl of his Mustang starting. He was already on his way out here. For some reason that made her feel better, cared for. A dangerous feeling when there were already way too many swirling around her heart.

"I guess since I hear that toy of yours, whatever I say in inconsequential." What was it with her and the big words today?

She heard him sigh, could picture him running his big hand through his hair. That same hair she had played with to her heart's content two nights ago.

"Chelle, we really need to talk. Somewhere quiet. And not while we both have our minds on what's happening at work."

He seemed to be waiting for her to say something, but her throat had closed up.

"Can we do that, Chelle? Please?"

The please was so unlike him. He took what he wanted and didn't ask much.

"Yeah," she managed to say around the lump in her throat. "I think that I'd like us to talk." She gave him the name of the garage and sat down to wait, her mind on him and what to do when she knew she was going to get her heart broken.

He pulled up in record time, mud splatters on his car showing his disregard for it's low suspension system. He strode into the garage and seemed right at home, even dressed in a tailored suit and designer tie.

What was it about some men that they could order french wine and discuss car talk with a toothless mechanic with the same ease? It was disgusting. And very, very sexy, she had to admit.