Authors: Linda Cajio
He’d nearly lost her in the city, and had been relieved when she finally stopped. He’d watched her get out of her car, then wrestle the sign from the back. A few cars went by, but not a soul stopped. The area around the refinery had been dangerous enough at night, but this place …
Miles pulled the ’Vette completely off the road, steering the vehicle behind some bushes for protection. Then he got out of the car and followed her.
Catherine heard someone scrambling over the broken glass and concrete behind her and immediately dropped the sign she’d been trying to shove into the packed earth. It fell with a bang as she whipped around. She screamed at the noise, and at the sight of someone running toward her. She turned and tried to scramble to safety.
“Catherine!”
She stumbled and turned, her flashlight’s beam picking up a familiar person in its light.
“Miles!” she gasped, her heart racing half in relief and half in fear. “You’re supposed to be in a meeting!”
His expression was thunderous, anger radiating out of him like an overheated car. “I canceled it. We had a bargain, Catherine.”
“And I was keeping it,” she said, her breath coming hard and fast.
“This is not keeping it!” he roared.
“Miles, relax. I was just putting up the sign and then I was coming back. And keep your voice down, will you?”
She walked back to the sign, which had survived the scare, then bent down and began scraping at the iron-hard dirt, using a stick for a shovel.
“I will not keep my voice down!” he shouted, striding over to her and yanking her to her feet.
A thread of fear whipped through her at his murderous expression. Maybe she had pushed things a little too far this time. In an effort to calm him, she said, “Miles, honest, I wasn’t breaking the bargain to escape. I promised I wouldn’t, and I meant it. But I didn’t promise I wouldn’t do any more Earth Angel missions. I would never promise that, and you know it.”
“But you knew that’s what I meant, dammit!”
“Then you should have said it.”
He almost exploded. “Catherine!”
“Miles, look at these drums here.”
She shone the flashlight on several drums half buried in the dirt. Rust was already eating at the metal. He glanced at them. “So? They’re drums.”
“Not just any drums, Miles. They’re filled with
waste chemicals from Wagner Oil. The plant is right over there.” She pointed toward faint lights far off across the empty field. “They’ve been secretly burying these here for the last four months.”
He stared at her, then at the drums. “But they look years old.”
She could feel the shock run through him. Complacent Miles was getting a rude awakening. “
Months
old. They’re already leaching out the waste into the ground under the fill. A developer will no doubt buy this lot some day, if one hasn’t already. And of course, the mess will be discovered then. But the culprit won’t be. There’s nothing to trace Wagner here … except Earth Angel. I
have
to do this. For my grandfather. I’ll be back at your house when I’m done. Just as I promised.”
She knelt down and began poking at the earth again.
Miles knelt next to her. “Catherine, these signs and pranks are not the way to stop this. It’s dangerous to be out at night alone—especially in this place. Go to the … Here, give me that.” He took the stick from her struggling hands. His scraping was much more effective than hers. “Go to the family—”
“I did. A month ago, I told my father what Byrne’s been doing. He called me a liar.”
“No comment about your father.”
“I’ve already said it anyway.” She watched him dig, trying not to smile. His mouth might be saying the wrong things, but his hands were doing the right ones. She would keep this picture of Miles in her heart always.
“Go straight to the EPA,” he said, “and report—”
“I did that too. But they take forever to act,
Miles, even if they think the complaint is a legitimate one. I called them anonymously, which was my fatal mistake. Earth Angel is newsworthy, and once the media is in on it, then bureaucracy moves a whole lot faster to cover the embarrassment and look good to the public.”
“You could have come to me—”
“No, I couldn’t,” she snapped, angry with his obtuse suggestion. “You wouldn’t have believed me, either, and you know it. I’m Catherine the idealist, Catherine the alarmist, Catherine the hippie. Nobody believes me because they think I’m against anything that makes a profit. Well, I like the money fine, but let’s do it right, even if it means a little less profit. And let’s not break the law for a buck, okay?”
“Okay.” He threw down the stick and sat back on his heels. “This dirt is too damn hard. Let’s get some of the concrete to prop the sign up instead.”
“Very bright, Miles.”
She held the sign while he propped concrete blocks around it. She smiled in amusement the entire time. He was wonderful.
He glanced up. “What are you staring at?”
“You,” she said. “Just you.”
“Oh.”
As she stood next to him, she was aware of everything about him. The strength in his hands, the way his hair fell over his forehead, the intense energy within him. Emotions that ran the gamut from excitement to tenderness washed through her heart.
As he set the last block in place, he said, “Never
ever
do this again, Catherine.”
She smiled innocently. “I won’t do a sign again.”
“No. No more Earth Angel.”
She just looked at him.
“We’ll discuss this at home.”
She just looked at him.
He sighed and started walking toward the road. “Come on.”
She followed behind him, knowing she was still bound by the bargain. But she would never promise the other.
When they reached her car, she said, “I’m not leaving my car this time.”
“I suppose I can trust you to drive it home,” he said.
“I will be there,” she said forcefully, reaching in her sweatsuit jacket pocket for her keys.
The pocket was empty.
“Damn!” she muttered.
Miles asked the obvious. “What’s wrong?”
“I lost my keys.”
“Lost your keys? Where?”
She smiled sweetly. “If I knew that, they wouldn’t be lost, now would they?”
“Then you’ll have to leave your car and come home with me—”
“No!”
“Don’t you have a spare key?”
“In my purse. In the car, under the front seat.”
“What’s it doing in the car?”
She glared at him. “Does James Bond take a purse on a mission? Does Mother Teresa?”
“Yes, she does,” Miles said, trying the driver’s door. “I’ve seen her with one when she comes to raise money in the States.”
“Well, Earth Angel leaves hers nice and safe in
the car. See?” She pointed in the passenger window to the front seat. “Nice and safe.”
In spite of her standing there, he walked around the car and tried the passenger door. It was locked too. Catherine just shook her head. Miles was from the I-have-to-touch-it-to-believe-it school of thought.
Believing it, he looked at her. “Don’t you have one of those little magnetic boxes with the key inside attached under the hood somewhere, just in case you lock your keys in the car?”
“No, because I keep a spare in my wallet just in case I lock my keys in the car.”
“Catherine …” He took a deep breath. “You’ll have to come home with me.”
“No, I am not leaving my car again. They must have dropped out of my pocket when I was digging. I’ll go back and check.”
“It’s too danger—”
“Don’t be silly,” she interrupted, starting off toward the sign. “They’re on a glow-in-the-dark key chain, so it’ll only take a minute to spot them. Besides, nothing happened when we were putting up the sign. And you can hear me scream. In the meantime, you stay put and watch my car, okay?”
She disappeared into the trees, completely ignoring his protests.
Miles watched her go and debated whether to follow her, then decided not to. She was right; he could hear her easily. Also, she would know exactly where she’d been standing or kneeling, so she had a better chance of finding her keys than he did. And someone really ought to look after the car. Both cars. He prayed the ’Vette was still safe and
sound behind the bushes down the road. He could see the bushes, but not the car. He hoped nobody else could see the car, either.
If only he could get in the car, then he could reach the spare keys and they could get out of there. He tried the door again with no luck, then felt for any space around the window edge. It was pressed too tight against the door frame for him to force it down.
He walked around the car and tried the driver’s-side window. This one wasn’t butted tight against the frame under the rubber gaskets. Still, he couldn’t get his fingers in the crack enough to push the window down. The pop-up lock looked promising, though. If he had a hanger, he could feed it through the window and maybe get the lock up.
He looked around and realized there was enough trash along the road’s shoulder to provide a hanger … or something close.
“I pay good taxes for
this
?” he muttered as he surveyed the litter. “Aha!”
He picked up a thin loop of metal that had caught his eye. It was rusted but still flexible. He only hoped it was long enough.
At the car he was able to feed it through the window, and he grinned. Pulling it out, he bent a small loop at the end, then fed it back through the opening and began to fish for the lock. A car suddenly swung up behind Catherine’s, its headlights shining right on him. The bubble lights on the roof weren’t swirling red, but Miles still got a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Two policemen got out of the car.
“Good evening, officers,” Miles said cheerfully. “I’m afraid I locked myself out of the car.”
“May I see your license and registration?” one asked.
He casually dropped the wire and got out his wallet. “I just have my license. My registration is in the car.”
“Thank you,” the officer said as he took it. He headed back to the squad car. The other officer pulled out the wire.
Miles smiled and shrugged. The cop didn’t. He wondered what the hell was keeping Catherine.
About a minute later, the first officer returned. “This car is registered to a Catherine Wagner. Would you step over to the squad car, sir?”
“But—”
“Step over to the car, sir,” the other cop said, taking out his handcuffs.
Miles stared at them, shocked. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you in. Will you step over to the car now, sir?”
“No, I will not,” Miles began.
The cop grabbed his arm and snapped a cuff on his wrist. “I’m afraid you are now resisting arrest. You have the right to remain silent …”
Miles started to open his mouth to tell them about Catherine being in the deserted lot. He kept it shut, though, when he realized the officers would discover Earth Angel. They would both be arrested then. He swore under his breath. Never, never,
never
would he follow her again. He’d retire to a monastery where there was no Catherine to make him physically and emotionally crazy.
And when he got out of the slammer in ten to twelve, he’d kill her.
As she hunkered down among the trees, Catherine clamped her hands over her mouth to silence her laughter as she watched Philadelphia’s premier banker get arrested. She shouldn’t be laughing. She knew she really shouldn’t. But the look on Miles’s face …
By the time the police car rolled away, tears were streaming down her face. She was still snickering and wiping at her tears when she finally emerged from her hiding place, her keys safe in her pocket.
She supposed she ought to go bail him out.
The thought had her laughing all over again.
“Kitteridge?”
“Here!” Miles pushed himself away from the wall.
“Someone made your bail.”
“About time.” He walked over to the cell door, then turned and waved to Iggy and Righteous William, who were in for robbing a convenience store. “I’m sprung, fellas. It’s been a pleasure.”
Iggy pushed his wavy blond hair from his eyes. “See ya ’round, dude.”
Righteous William gave him the victory fist. He had yet to speak. With his staring eyes and “Mother Doom” tattoo on his shoulder, the man was scary enough without words.
The sound of the lock opening was sweet to Miles. Standing on the other side of the bars was even sweeter. But the greatest pleasure was yet to come—when he had his hands around Catherine’s throat. He would kill her for this. And he
still
didn’t know what that sign said.
His morale rose 200 percent as he walked out of the cell-block area in the precinct station. He was
shocked to see daylight through the grimy windows. It had seemed an eternity since they’d put him in the holding cell, and now he realized it was. As he’d waited impatiently for someone to arrive and straighten out the mix-up, he’d had time to think. He couldn’t get the image of those rusting drums leaking toxic chemicals out of his mind. He didn’t like what he’d seen, and knew something had to be done.
Catherine and his grandmother were sitting on a bench on the far side of the lobby. Catherine was still dressed in jeans and sweatjacket, her auburn hair falling around her shoulders. She looked like a teenager. The moment she spotted him, she broke into giggles.
“Wait until I get you out of here,” he muttered as she approached him.
She actually leaned against him and giggled even more. “Don’t make me laugh. My sides are already hurting. Besides, who do you think explained what happened and bailed you out?”
“
Who
had the money to bail him out?” Lettice asked, joining them.
“You,” Catherine said. “But I got him off.”
He looked down at her, acutely aware of how grimy, bleary-eyed, and unshaven he was. “I am eternally grateful,” he said dryly.
“Now who’s being prickly?” She glanced up at him, then wrapped her arms around him and burst into laughter.
The feel of her body snuggled against his dissolved his hours of anger. Killing her didn’t seem to be as satisfactory an idea as it had been. There were others ways to wreak his vengeance. He
patted her on the back and resigned himself to being the brunt of a great joke—for the moment.