seat and crouched on the floorboard. Not so surprising was a surly "You said we were getting out of here."
"If we're lucky, we will." Jack curled sideways, his cheek resting on the window ledge and head obscured by the side mirror's housing. "If we're not, the people who live here are, at this very moment, speed-dialing 911."
"But"
"Look, Ms. whatever your last name is, it's your fault we didn't make it to the car fast enough to drive off into the sunset."
"I was scared to death. I didn't know who'd grabbed me."
"You did before you damn near gelded me."
After a pause that may or may not have contained a stifled chuckle, came a righteous "If you're not a cop and you're definitely not a jewelry salesman, who are you?"
"Private investigator." Jack shrank down as the patrol unit approached the deHavens' address. "Don't make a sound," he whispered. "Boy in blue at eleven o'clock."
A fender-mounted spotlight swept the property from lot line to lot line, then zeroed in on the gate. The cruiser backed up to blockade the driveway. The uniform stepped out of the patrol unit, gandering around as he slipped a nightstick into the loop on his utility belt. Twice, he eyeballed the Taurus parked in the driveway across the street.
It's the housekeeper's car, Jack telegraphed in a convincing, mental tone of voice. Or maybe good ol' Aunt Agnes is visiting from Des Moines.
Another unit arrived from the opposite direction. A consultation ensued, punctuated by gestures and finger-pointing. Armed with Maglites, the officers rang the deHavens' doorbell, checked each garage door, then split up to circle around back.
Cop One disappeared around the far corner of the house. Cop Two slipped through the side gate. Jack started the Taurus, forcing himself not to burn rubber getting the hell outa there.
He waited until a turn onto a curving side street to exhale, switch on the headlights and the windshield wipers. "Ooookay. You can get up now."
Dina took a precautionary peek over the dashboard, then wriggled onto the seat. "That was close."
It still was. Whether the cops heard the engine noise or not, that first responder would notice the Taurus was gone. ASAP wasn't fast enough for Jack to put high-dollar holler behind them.
"You can drop me off anywhere," Dina said as casually as a friend of a friend who'd accepted a lift home from a party.
"My office or the PD." Jack glanced at her. "Take your pick."
"You won't turn me in."
"Care to bet on that?"
"Then why'd you ditch the police?"
"Temporary insanity." God knew, that was true. Jack had never knowingly aided and abetted a criminal in his life. Well, not since he qualified for a P.I. license, anyway. Or during his brief law-enforcement career. And from birth to approximately fourteen years of age.
"I owe you big-time," Dina said, "but I have to go home. Tomorrow I'll meet you at your office and explain everything, but my mother's seriously ill, and I can't leave her alone for very long."
She'd never burgle again, she wasn't really a thief and she had a sick mother. All that song needed was Daddy on death row, a lonesome train whistle and a pickup truck.
Jack groaned and shook his head. And he'd probably believe that, too.
8
J ack McPhee had dropped Dina at the street behind the deHaven house where she parked her VW. From there, she hadn't even tried to outrun his headlights etching her rearview mirrors.
Before he unlocked the Taurus's door he'd dictated her name, address, driver's license, tag and phone numbers into a minicassette recorder, then copied them in a notebook. Then again, the impossibility of an escape seldom deterred an attempt.
The thought never entered Dina's mind. The elsewhere it had been all the way across town centered on the fact a stranger was about to see her naked. The raw
"If we're lucky, we will." Jack curled sideways, his cheek resting on the window ledge and head obscured by the side mirror's housing. "If we're not, the people who live here are, at this very moment, speed-dialing 911."
"But"
"Look, Ms. whatever your last name is, it's your fault we didn't make it to the car fast enough to drive off into the sunset."
"I was scared to death. I didn't know who'd grabbed me."
"You did before you damn near gelded me."
After a pause that may or may not have contained a stifled chuckle, came a righteous "If you're not a cop and you're definitely not a jewelry salesman, who are you?"
"Private investigator." Jack shrank down as the patrol unit approached the deHavens' address. "Don't make a sound," he whispered. "Boy in blue at eleven o'clock."
A fender-mounted spotlight swept the property from lot line to lot line, then zeroed in on the gate. The cruiser backed up to blockade the driveway. The uniform stepped out of the patrol unit, gandering around as he slipped a nightstick into the loop on his utility belt. Twice, he eyeballed the Taurus parked in the driveway across the street.
It's the housekeeper's car, Jack telegraphed in a convincing, mental tone of voice. Or maybe good ol' Aunt Agnes is visiting from Des Moines.
Another unit arrived from the opposite direction. A consultation ensued, punctuated by gestures and finger-pointing. Armed with Maglites, the officers rang the deHavens' doorbell, checked each garage door, then split up to circle around back.
Cop One disappeared around the far corner of the house. Cop Two slipped through the side gate. Jack started the Taurus, forcing himself not to burn rubber getting the hell outa there.
He waited until a turn onto a curving side street to exhale, switch on the headlights and the windshield wipers. "Ooookay. You can get up now."
Dina took a precautionary peek over the dashboard, then wriggled onto the seat. "That was close."
It still was. Whether the cops heard the engine noise or not, that first responder would notice the Taurus was gone. ASAP wasn't fast enough for Jack to put high-dollar holler behind them.
"You can drop me off anywhere," Dina said as casually as a friend of a friend who'd accepted a lift home from a party.
"My office or the PD." Jack glanced at her. "Take your pick."
"You won't turn me in."
"Care to bet on that?"
"Then why'd you ditch the police?"
"Temporary insanity." God knew, that was true. Jack had never knowingly aided and abetted a criminal in his life. Well, not since he qualified for a P.I. license, anyway. Or during his brief law-enforcement career. And from birth to approximately fourteen years of age.
"I owe you big-time," Dina said, "but I have to go home. Tomorrow I'll meet you at your office and explain everything, but my mother's seriously ill, and I can't leave her alone for very long."
She'd never burgle again, she wasn't really a thief and she had a sick mother. All that song needed was Daddy on death row, a lonesome train whistle and a pickup truck.
Jack groaned and shook his head. And he'd probably believe that, too.
8
J ack McPhee had dropped Dina at the street behind the deHaven house where she parked her VW. From there, she hadn't even tried to outrun his headlights etching her rearview mirrors.
Before he unlocked the Taurus's door he'd dictated her name, address, driver's license, tag and phone numbers into a minicassette recorder, then copied them in a notebook. Then again, the impossibility of an escape seldom deterred an attempt.
The thought never entered Dina's mind. The elsewhere it had been all the way across town centered on the fact a stranger was about to see her naked. The raw
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