Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [57]
“I can last a lot longer than you can out here,” Angela shouted as she dug her heels deeper into the semifrozen mud.
The cop circled her, got a better grip, and shoved her forward. “Move!”
She was defeated. A fool she wasn’t, but she made the cop work for his money. He dragged her every step of the way, both of them slipping and sliding in the mud till they resembled creatures from some dark swamp.
Angela stared at the cream-colored car the cop was steering her toward, wanting to howl with glee. It didn’t say PD. It was an undercover vehicle—or his own car. Cream-colored with fabric seats! For a brief moment the cop paused, slapping his forehead with a muddy palm. But he had no choice. “Get in and sit in one spot. Do you hear me?”
Angela turned slightly and, even though her hands were bound, managed to hit him with her shoulder and knock him off balance. The cop held back his fury as Angela climbed into the backseat of the car. The first thing she did was to sprawl full-length on the seat. The cop slid behind the wheel, watching Angela dig her muddy heels into the rich fabric of the upholstery.
Christ, he had sweated to buy this car, and now this punk kid had ruined it in three seconds. Someone was going to pay for this, and it wasn’t going to be him. And this wasn’t even department business. A $40,000 car with only 10,211 miles on it. Shot to hell! His shoulders slumped as he steered the quiet car from the parking lot on his way to Eric Summers’s house.
Chapter 10
Charlie glanced in the backseat to make sure the groceries hadn’t been stolen. He had shopped during his lunch hour and left the food in the car. By now everything must be frozen solid. He hoped Angela wasn’t going to be upset.
Angela.
Icy, treacherous roads permitting, he would see her in less than twenty minutes. Happy endings really did happen to people like him.
His eyes glued to the hazardous highway, Charlie fumbled with the radio, picking up warnings about storms and dangerous driving conditions.
“Tell me about it,” he snorted as he watched a car in the next lane swerve and then straighten itself out.
The traffic slowed to a near halt and Charlie shifted the car into low gear. Right now his top priority was Angela and their relationship. For the first time in his life, someone had bothered to look inside him, to see that he really did have a heart and a sensitive soul. And Angela was responsible for all of that. She’d made him feel the way he did at this moment. His mood lightened again and he felt almost giddy. If—and the if was a big one—he ever told Angela about how long he’d been lonely, she would most likely understand. Just thinking about her radiant smile made him feel whole again, no longer split in two.
Preoccupied, at first he thought he’d made the wrong turn. Or was it the wrong driveway? Had he missed his own house? With all the rain and sleet anything was possible. But no, that was his house; he could tell by the mimosa tree on the front lawn. Now the branches were bare, of course—still, his was the only house on the street with a mimosa tree. But the front light was off and there was no sign of life anywhere. Why was the house so dark? Of course, he reassured himself, Angela must have finished all that baking and maybe fallen asleep watching television. What other reason could there be? He would forgive her. She had problems. And if there was one thing Charlie knew about, it was problems.
His gut churned as he shifted the heavy grocery bag and worked the key in the lock. There was no scent of perked coffee, but there was a lingering aroma of cookies. He looked toward the living room, toward the long sofa. She wasn’t there. The television wasn’t casting shadows in the dark room. Something akin to a primal moan in his soul struggled to the surface. He dumped the groceries on the nearest chair and lumbered toward the kitchen.
Empty and dark. He flipped on the light and saw a couple of dozen Christmas cookies on a