“Oops,” she said. “Busted.”
As she moved right, he launched into the first line of the Janis Joplin song about Bobby McGee, but then he broke off and twisted to stare through the back.
“My fault.” She’d never had a ticket. She rode the bus to work and drove her car twice a week, tops, for groceries or to meet a friend in Ballard. “I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry.”
He started to laugh. “You look…don’t cry.”
“But I got us pulled over.”
The trooper left his vehicle as she struggled to manually crank the window. “Long way to Washington State, ma’am, but that’s no reason to be in a hurry. License and registration, please.”
When she took the papers from Rey, the officer must have put together the base parking sticker on the windshield, the folded wheelchair on the bench seat and the silicone cups sticking out past the edges of Rey’s black nylon shorts, where he’d removed his prosthetics.
“Holy cow. Sir.” His voice snapped with respect.
“Sergeant.” Rey’s jaw moved until he found a sentence. “Work for living.”
“Roger that.” The trooper didn’t even look at the paperwork he handed back to Rey. “Here, put this away. Came home last August from Helmand with Marine Reserves. You?”
“Paktia.” It came out staccato, but he managed to add Fifth S-F-G, his old unit, and her chest filled with pride.
“Ma’am, you know you were doing eight miles over the speed limit?”
“I’m sorry. I learned how to drive this yesterday and I guess it got away from me.”
“Happens with these beauties. What year?”
“Se-ven-ty,” Rey answered.
“How fast can it hit a hundred? Not that I endorse driving at speeds in excess of the posted limit.”
“Four-teen.”
“Fourteen seconds?”
Rey nodded across her. Car lust, like military acronyms, was one more thing she did not understand, but the cop and Rey locked eyes and she could almost see the catalytic carburetor nonsense flow between them like charges from an electric eel.
“Man works hard to own a machine like this, he ought to enjoy it.” The officer was nodding to himself through the window, then his eyes met hers. “Think you could handle the wheel at ninety?”
“Not a—”
“You bet. She can.” Rey laid his hand on her leg.
She looked between the two men, the trooper with his hat tilted so he could talk closer to the window, his top lip tight to his teeth as if anxious for her to agree, and Rey, leaning forward in his seat with anticipation.
“I’ll hit the lights out front, and cars will move right. Let this beauty run for a couple of miles. Trust me, nothing better than speed.” He looked between them and winked. “Maybe some things.”
Another crazy dive out of her comfort zone thanks to Reynaldo Cruz. She owed him. Big time.
South Dakota
The chicken-fried steak hadtasted so amazing, she’d eaten a truck-stop sized portion and a slice of famous pumpkin pie after they visited Wall Drug and the Corn Palace. Now it sat in her stomach, as restless as the thoughts she worked to rein to her side of the bed.
On the busiest travel day of the year, they’d been lucky to get any bed. If Rey hadn’t stood beside her in the lobby with his metal legs showing from his shorts, they wouldn’t have had this one, but the clerk had said that since it was after four, she’d cancel a no-show reservation in their favor.
A queen-sized mattress seemed large until a woman had to share it with a handsome man and her principles. Alphabetical listing of fish species of the North Pacific, that was what she’d concentrate on. Cold, wet and slimy. Absolutely not hot, hard and at hand.
Chapter 17
