One Night (17 page)

Praying it was Kyle, her first inclination was to run out onto the front porch. But what if it was someone other than the man she loved? Carrie’s heart collided with her chest at the thought. Perhaps someone else, Richards’s killer, had learned of their whereabouts and had come, seeking the key.

In a panic, Carrie looked around for a hiding place. There wasn’t one. The loft would be the first place anyone would look.

Kyle was right. When her life was on the line she didn’t once seriously consider her three karate lessons. But she wouldn’t use the handgun either. Call her a fool, but she hated the very thought of the weapon.

The sound grew close and Carrie braced her back against the rough cabin wall and inched her way toward the window. When she gathered the necessary courage, she turned and looked out.

It was a car, and it didn’t belong to Kyle.

By this time Carrie’s heart seemed to be pounding loud enough for telegraph messages in the African jungle. It felt as if it would explode inside her chest.

Not until the car had parked where the moon glowed on the side panel advertising
HARRIS HEALTH FOODS
did Carrie know it was Kyle’s mother.

Weak with relief, she opened the front door and padded barefoot onto the porch.

“Hello,” Lillian Harris called, standing next to her 1960 Ford station wagon.

“Hello. I’m Carrie Jamison.”

Kyle’s mother was nothing like Carrie had expected. The woman was tall and regal-looking with bright silver-colored hair that was styled short, almost boyishly. If it weren’t for her hair, Carrie would have guessed her to be in her late thirties rather than the fifty she knew her to be.

“I’m looking for Kyle.”

“He isn’t here,” Carrie explained, and held the door open for Lillian. “Come inside.”

Fifteen minutes later, over brewed herbal tea, Carrie had finished telling Lillian the wild story of Billy Bob, alias Max Sanders, the key, Agent Richards’s death, and why she was holed up in a cabin alone, frantically worried about Kyle.

“According to my runes, Kyle’s in no real danger,” Lillian said, as if this was authority enough to assure her of her son’s well-being.

Carrie wasn’t sure she should take comfort in that or not. For her part, she would have preferred a more modern technique, like a phone call or having him arrive at the cabin himself.

“I’m pleased to meet you at last,” Lillian said. “I just wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

“I’m pleased to meet you too. Kyle’s mentioned you often.”

Lillian laughed at that, rocking in the wooden chair that sat next to the fireplace. “I’ll just bet he has. I must say you’re not what I expected.”

“Me?” Carrie flattened her palm over her chest.

“I don’t mean to sound unflattering, but I would never have guessed you’d be so tiny.”

Carrie understood; she had expected something quite different with Lillian too. She’d thought the woman would wear love beads and sandals and have long hair. Lillian looked very much like what she was: a health food advocate who took her business seriously. Her hairstyle was chic, and instead of love beads she’d donned a necklace of three small crystals. As for the way she dressed, Carrie couldn’t see that Kyle’s mother’s taste was that much different from her own—other than the crystals.

“It’s been something of an experience to realize my son was falling in love for the first time in his life,” Lillian went on to say. “I knew it would happen someday,” she said wistfully. “It just took longer than normal. But then, what can I expect of a son who voted for George Bush?”

Carrie laughed.

“Perhaps now Kyle will understand the love that was so precious between his father and me.”

Carrie didn’t know if she should comment, and, if she did, what she should say. Kyle didn’t think kindly of his father. The few times he’d mentioned Moonrunner, the statements had always been derogatory.

Lillian stared into her mug of tea. The dim light of the kerosene lamp illuminated the area about the
stone fireplace. Carrie sat on the floor on a braided rug and sipped hot tea herself.

“Is he still intent on quitting his job?” Lillian asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Good. You two are an excellent pair, on and off the air. I’d hate the thought of his giving up his career at KUTE at this point.”

Now it was Carrie’s turn to study her tea. “Did he tell you I’m pregnant?”

“Get out of here!” Lillian’s smile lit up her face. “That’s great!”

“We’ve decided to marry. The first thing we did when we arrived at the cabin was to drive into Jansenville for the marriage license. We saw Doc Henley, who’s a justice of the peace.” She didn’t list the man’s other titles.

“He’s an ordained minister as well.”

“He is?” Carrie felt better knowing that.

“I suppose Kyle told you about me and his father,” Lillian said, her voice so low Carrie had to strain to hear her.

“Only a little.”

“We met the summer I was nineteen. I was living in Haight-Ashbury at the time, convinced all the world needed was love. Naturally I opposed the war in Vietnam. I met Moonrunner at a protest rally where he and several of his friends burned their draft cards.

“I saw him, and the minute our eyes met I knew I’d never be the same again, and I was right. We sat up that first night and talked until dawn. I wish I could adequately explain the strength of our feelings
for each other from that first moment. It was as if I’d waited all my life for this one person. He felt the same way about me.”

“But he left you.” Carrie regretted the outburst the moment the words left her lips.

“Kyle told you that, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Carrie admitted reluctantly. “I’m sorry, I should never have repeated it.”

“Moonrunner didn’t leave me. Even now, after all these years, I refuse to believe that. He never knew I was pregnant with Ringo—I mean Kyle. If he had, I think he would have turned over heaven and earth to find me.” Lillian smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt. “Perhaps what you’re hearing is the wishful thinking of an old woman who’ll never be able to forget the one true love of her life. There’ve been other men since, but I was only tempted to marry once, and that was years ago.”

“You were opposed to violence?”

“Oh, yes. I still am, vehemently opposed.”

“But you own a gun. Kyle gave it to me. He insisted I have it for protection while he was away.” She glanced toward the kitchen cabinet where it was stored.

“The gun belonged to his father. I hope to high heaven you didn’t attempt to fire it.”

“No, I refused.”

“Thank God. That thing hasn’t been used in over thirty years. Moonrunner gave it to me for the same reason. He thought I might need it for protection.”

“Against whom?” Carrie asked, curious to learn what she could about Kyle’s parents.

“The police. Moonrunner was into some
thing
he
could never talk about. He couldn’t tell me for my own protection, but I think I knew. You need to remember those were violent days. Our young men were dying on foreign soil and we were losing the very future of our country. People don’t understand now. I’m proud to have been involved in protest marches. I firmly believe they shortened the war and saved American lives.”

“You were saying something about Kyle’s father,” Carrie said, not wanting to steer the woman away from the topic that interested her most.

“Yes, Moonrunner. I suspected he was with a militant group that planned to bomb an ROTC building on some campus.”

“Did they?”

“I can’t be sure. Several militant organizations were bombing buildings in those days. One ROTC was hit, but it wasn’t the one I suspected Moonrunner was planning to blow up. Of course, anytime one works with explosives there’s terrible danger.”

“Naturally.” Carrie shuddered to think of young people putting their lives on the line in order to protest a war. If ever she needed proof that violence begets violence, she had it in Lillian’s story.

“Several of us lost friends. One explosion…”

“Yes?” Carrie urged softly.

“It was an accident,” Lillian said, her face tight with the painful memories. “Three college students were killed. I tried to find out about Moonrunner, but I never could. You see, I never knew his legal name. Moonrunner was all he ever told me. Again, that was for my protection.”

“He knew yours?”

“No.” She smiled regretfully. “I’d renounced it and my parents, both.”

“I see.”

“You probably don’t, but remember I was young and very stupid. When I discovered I was pregnant with Kyle, I quickly reclaimed my name and came home to Kansas. Thank God I had wonderful parents.”

“They helped you get on your feet?”

“Oh, yes, but it took some time. I had a difficult pregnancy and my morale was low. No matter how hard I tried to put Moonrunner out of my mind, I couldn’t, even though I suspected he was dead.”

Carrie closed her eyes and silently prayed for Kyle’s safety.

“I’d like to think Kyle’s father would get a charge out of our son. Who would have believed two hippies could have spawned a conservative Republican?”

“Give him time to come around,” Carrie said with a wink.

“I swear I wasn’t awake until I reached thirty, and by that time it was too late. Kyle’s personality was already formed, and it resembled my father’s far more than it did mine or Moonrunner’s.”

Carrie flattened her hand on her tummy, thinking of the baby growing there and wondering about the life their child would have.

“I nearly married when Kyle was ten—a natural yogurt salesman from Missouri. We got along real well and might have made a good life together, but when it came right down to it, I realized I was marrying Harold for all the wrong reasons. I liked him just fine. He was a good man, and he would have
made Kyle a decent stepfather, but you know what was missing: that spark. It just wasn’t the same as it was with me and Moonrunner.

“Sometimes I wonder what kind of life Kyle would have had if I’d married Harold. At the time Kyle thought it was a great idea. He was furious when I told him the wedding was off.” She paused and laughed. “He ran away. Got a whole lot farther than I’d ever suspect. If we hadn’t found him before he reached the Mississippi, my guess is we might never have seen him again.”

She chuckled as if the memories amused her.

“You might find it amazing, but Kyle’s a lot like me in ways you wouldn’t suspect. He’s the type of man who only loves once. When men like that make a commitment to a woman, it’s for life.”

Carrie felt strengthened by Lillian’s words. “I’ll do my best to be a good wife to him.”

“You want some advice?” Lillian asked, leaning forward and bracing her forearms against her knees.

“Of course.”

“This is probably the only time I’ll give you any. I’m not good at this sort of thing, but I know my son through and through. I can tell you how to keep him content.”

“Please do.”

“Love my son with all your heart.”

“I do,” Carrie said firmly.

“And keep plenty of chicken recipes on hand. Kyle loves chicken.”

Kyle needed to
think, and he was having a hard time doing it. Every time he concentrated on the string of events that had led him to this point, Carrie’s face came to mind, and that made it impossible to be rational.

All he wanted was to be done with this craziness and get back to her so they could be married. Rarely had there been a man more anxious for his honeymoon.

He wasn’t sure he could trust Bates, but he had no option. The first thing he did when he arrived back in Kansas City was contact the agent and set up a convenient meeting place and time.

Then he waited near the rendezvous point for the Secret Service agent to arrive. He killed time in a men’s store across the street from the Mexican restaurant they’d chosen, trying on winter coats. He’d been there long enough to examine a dozen or
more overcoats and ward off a salesman twice, by the time he saw Bates arrive.

Bates was with another agent. Choosing to dine al fresco, the two men sat down at one of the white patio tables, whose multicolored umbrellas cheerfully endorsed a variety of beers. If Kyle hadn’t known the men were government agents, he would have guessed as much almost immediately. They were clean-cut, businesslike, and they sat with their backs to the wall, a dead giveaway.

Amused, his gaze skirted past the only other patron sitting outside, an older woman sipping a heavily salted margarita. Kyle winced. The woman was ugly, dog ugly. It wasn’t in Kyle’s nature to be cruel, but he couldn’t imagine sitting across the dinner table with someone who looked as if she’d spent the day sucking lemons. She wore a hat and gloves, as if this were an afternoon tea party instead of a Mexican restaurant.

Kyle moved away from the heavy winter coats and hesitated. Slowly his gaze returned to the woman and stopped. There was something vaguely familiar about her.

Then he knew.

Kyle felt as if someone had slugged him in the chest. Ms. Margarita wasn’t any female. It was Max Sanders dressed as a woman.

Kyle had to give the felon credit; Sanders was a master of disguise. At first, even second glance, Kyle would never have guessed. Bates and his new partner hadn’t either, and they were supposed to be professionals.

One thing was certain: Kyle couldn’t walk across
the street and hand over the key. His heart sank. He felt as though he was never going to be rid of the stupid thing.

Having Sanders arrive on the scene presented a problem. Kyle wondered how he knew about the meeting. Had Bates told him? Kyle doubted that Sanders would go to the trouble of wearing a disguise if that were the case.

The only other possibility he could come up with was that Sanders had tapped his phone. Kyle wanted to groan at his own stupidity. Thinking Bates would put a tracer on the call, Kyle had phoned from his house, all the while patting himself on the back for being so damned clever. If Bates tracked the call, Kyle wanted it to appear that he’d been holed up inside his house all this while.

Kyle remained hidden from view behind a coat rack, debating his courses of action. He knew Bates was anxious to talk to him, mainly about what Kyle could tell him about Richards’s death.

Sanders wanted him too, but Kyle wasn’t foolish enough to believe it was friendly conversation the counterfeiter was after. Sanders wanted that blasted key.

Kyle had other considerations. He knew Carrie must be nearly frantic with worry by this time. Despite her promise, he didn’t trust her to stay put. It would be just like Carrie to come looking for him and walk into a pack of trouble.

He had no choice. He had to get back to Carrie before she did something crazy.

Carrie sat outside the cabin with a box of tissues in her lap, staring at the wide dirt pathway that led through the scrub from the road. She’d been sitting there since early that morning. Waiting. Watching. Worrying. Kyle’s mother seemed to believe he was in no immediate danger, but Carrie didn’t have nearly as much confidence in a few runes.

Lillian had left early that morning, promising to return in a day or two. The house seemed quiet without Lillian’s eager chatter. To her surprise, Carrie discovered that she liked the older woman immensely. Now she was sitting with a tissue box handy, in case she succumbed to a bout of self-pity.

A plume of dust rose from the top of the roadway. Carrie stood slowly, her heart in her throat, as she waited for the first sign of the vehicle. At this point she didn’t care if it was friend or foe. All she sought was an end to this terrible waiting.

The familiar lines of Kyle’s BMW came into view, and Carrie felt the moisture fill her eyes. Kyle parked the car and, sobbing, she raced to his side and hurled herself into his arms. He lifted her from the ground, holding her tightly against him, one arm about her waist, the other in her hair. His mouth found hers, and between laughter and tears and words that made no sense they kissed and clung to each other.

“You’re late,” she said when she could, between hungry, deep kisses. Her body had reacted automatically to his touch. The chill left her heart as the terrible fear she’d carried with her since he left slowly seeped away. It was far more than relief she felt in Kyle’s arms. To her surprise she felt suddenly,
inexplicably, dizzy with need. It startled her that she could be thinking such things now when all that mattered was that he was alive and had come back to her.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Kyle said.

“What happened?” she asked, spreading wet kisses over his face, unable to get enough of him.

“Later. Let me kiss you.”

And he did, again and again as if he’d never reach his fill. Slowly he lowered her feet toward the ground, his breathing heavy, as was hers.

“What happened?” she asked a second time, needing to know.

“Nothing serious. Don’t worry.”

“Tell me.” She took him by the hand and led him inside the cabin, where it was cooler.

He sat in the rocker his mother had recently occupied and pulled her into his lap. He pressed a kiss to her temple. Carrie put her hand over his and kissed his palm.

“It dawned on me while I was driving toward Kansas City that I was handing over a key but I hadn’t a clue as to what it opened.”

“A cache of counterfeit plates,” Carrie answered. “Richards told us that, remember?”

“Yes, but could we trust what he said?”

Carrie hadn’t thought of that; she’d assumed whatever the agent said was gospel. “I don’t know. But all we have—had,” she corrected, “was the key.”

“
Have
,” he said, frowning. “I still have it. Max Sanders was at the rendezvous point as well as Bates. We may end up having this thing bronzed. I can’t seem to get rid of it for love or money.”

“Oh, Kyle.” Their lives would never be the same as long as they possessed that stupid key.

“Only it doesn’t lead to counterfeit plates.”

Carrie’s mind whirled with possibilities. Her first thought was that Kyle had found oodles of money instead—or diamonds, or some computer chip.

“First off, I examined the key more closely,” Kyle said, answering her questions before she could ask them. “I had assumed it was to a safety deposit box, but I don’t have one, never have. It just made sense that that was what it was. Then I noticed something etched in the bow. It looked as if it was a number, or had been at one time, only the paint had long since worn away.”

“A locker key,” Carrie said under her breath.

“Exactly.”

“You found the locker? How? That’s like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“Simple. I tried to imagine what I’d do if someone were after me and I had something I needed to hide, so I started searching for lockers in small towns. I checked out the bus and rail stations in every town between Wheatland and Kansas City.”

“No wonder you’re late,” Carrie said, awed by his patience and at the same time wanting to slap him silly for worrying her this way.

“You’re right about it being a needle in a haystack,” Kyle continued, “but I finally found the locker in a hick town where the bus station is the largest building in the county.” He paused.

“What was inside?”

“Papers, memos, computer printouts. I sat down
and read what I could, but I wasn’t able to make much sense of it. Frankly, it looked like evidence.”

“Evidence?”

“My guess is that Sanders is using it to blackmail Nelson.”

“Of course.” That made sense to Carrie. “Why didn’t the Secret Service think of that?”

“Because they assumed the key was to a safety deposit box. That was what I told them.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know who to trust. I’m not sure what we should do.”

“I know what we should do,” she said, with a triumphant smile. “Get married.” She checked her watch. “Does an hour give you enough time?”

He looked at her as if she’d just suggested they strip naked and jump off a cliff. “You want to go through with the wedding? Now?”

“Are you saying you’ve changed your mind?”

“No, it’s just that I thought…wouldn’t it be best to wait until this mess is settled?”

“Not as far as I’m concerned. I refuse to let you cheat me out of a wedding, Kyle Harris. Besides, your mother said—”

“When did you talk to my mother?”

“She drove out to see how we were doing. I like her, Kyle, and she gave me some advice.”

“My mother? Lillian Harris gave you marital advice?”

“Yes. She said that in order to keep you content I had to love you, and in case you haven’t noticed, fella, I’m downright eager to follow through with that part. It’s the chicken recipes that threw me. I didn’t tell her I’m not much of a cook.”

“Chicken recipes?”

She giggled, kissed him, and climbed off his lap. “If you leave me standing at the altar you can bet my daddy’s going to hear about it.”

Kyle chuckled and headed toward the bedroom to change clothes.

The ceremony was short but beautiful. It took all of five minutes, Kyle calculated, to pledge his life, his love, his future to Carrie. And love her he did, beyond anything he ever thought possible.

She was radiant in her simple cotton summer dress with wildflowers woven in her hair, her face free of makeup, her eyes shining with love. He wondered if she’d always been this beautiful, or if he’d been blind all those months before Texas.

He wished this could have been the ceremony she deserved, with organ music and flowers and a big reception for guests eager to share in their happiness.

As it was, they stood alone in an empty church while Doc Henley had them repeat their vows, facing each other, holding hands. Afterward, he’d had two of his friends sign as witnesses and handed them the marriage certificate.

“You two have a good life together, and that’s an order,” he said. He adjusted his hearing aid. “Darn thing always acts up when I’ve got something important going on.”

“Thank you.” Carrie was holding a small bouquet of flowers. She kissed Doc on the cheek, and his face turned as red as beefsteak tomatoes.

“I don’t get to perform many weddings these days, but I make it a point of seeing that the ones I marry stay that way.”

“We will, thanks,” Kyle promised.

On the ride home, Kyle’s heart was full with all the things he wanted to say to Carrie. “I wish I could have given you the classic wedding with a country club reception and your parents—”

“It was perfect in every way,” she whispered.

Kyle parked under the shade of an oak tree outside the cabin. The setting sun was reflected in the still waters of the lake.

“Shall we have dinner?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she surprised him by saying.

“You have other plans?”

“Oh, yes,” she said with a lusty smile that caused his knees to go weak. She grabbed his tie and led him into the house toward the bedroom, not that Kyle needed any directing. He knew what he wanted: his wife.

“You may not have noticed,” Carrie said, loosening his tie and slipping it from his neck. She hung it over the brass rail at the foot of the bed.

“Noticed what?” Kyle eased open the top button of her pale blue dress. He made certain that the weight of his hand brushed against her breasts as he reached for the second button. A third followed.

“Things,” Carrie whispered, which made no sense to him. Not that it mattered, not right then. Eager now, he worked open the front of the dress and freed her breasts from the confinement of her lacy bra.

They both went still, hardly daring to breathe.

Slowly his fingertip traced circles around her
pink nipples and he watched, fascinated, as they hardened, marveling over the perfection of her breasts.

He had to kiss her. Holding her face prisoner, he settled his mouth over hers. She parted her lips, and his tongue slowly entered and teased her own.

Carrie sighed. Kyle carried her to the bed, then finished the task of stripping that Carrie had started. When he’d removed his clothes he helped her with hers, silently cursing all the layers a woman found it so necessary to wear.

They were both impatient now, their hands trembling in their rush. It seemed an eternity since that one night in Dallas, but he hadn’t forgotten a moment of it. He wanted her again. Needed her again.

“Hurry,” Carrie whispered.

Kyle didn’t need encouragement. He leveled his weight over her and she parted her thighs to him. Entering her in one swift movement, he closed his eyes and groaned aloud at the shattering pleasure. It felt as though her body were a moist silk glove clasping his heated length. She soothed him, stroked him, granting him pleasure he’d never known, promising much more.

He climaxed abruptly, the sensation exploding in his loins. Carrie followed, her cries mingling with his as she arched upward, panting. Gripping her slender hips, he held her tightly locked to him until the last spasms of release eased.

They held each other afterward, kissing now and again, whispering and laughing. Kyle felt exhausted, deliriously happy, sleepy.

They must have slept, because the next thing Kyle knew Carrie was tugging at his chest hairs with her teeth.

“You fell asleep,” she said, snuggling in his arms. “It seems a shame to waste our honeymoon night sleeping when we could be practicing…other things.”