Married To The Mob. Ginny Aiken

take the scenic, tourist route, and go through quaint little towns with well-maintained Victorian cottages. That way you’ll be able to enjoy the picturesque views.”

      “How about that nice, quiet place in Florida you told me about? I’m looking forward to a regular home—at least, for a while.”

      He could understand how she felt. He’d worked for the Bureau long enough that he’d come to hate the anonymity of hotel rooms. He also hated to sleep in his car during a stakeout. His nomadic lifestyle got to him at times, even though it came as a result of his chosen career. Carlie hadn’t chosen any of this.

      “Look, I know you’re in a rotten situation,” he said, his tone conciliatory. “But it would be even more rotten if anything happened to you—”

      “Get real! What you mean is that it would be rotten if they whacked me. You’d lose your prime witness, and your oh-so-important case would go down the toilet. There’s nothing about me in your plan.”

      “It’s all about you, Carlie. I don’t want to see you dead. I joined the Bureau to protect my country and its people. Last time I checked, you were a citizen. I don’t think anything’s changed that.”

      “There you go again. I’m a citizen.” She crossed her arms. “That’s garbage. I know what I’m facing, and I still have an identity. There is still life ahead of me. Spending what’s left locked inside this rolling tin can—” she pounded the car door “—is not what I’m ready to do.”

      His frustration reached the boiling point. “Well then, I guess that choice is out of your hands. You may have some weird kind of death wish, but I’m not going to play. Buckle up. We’re out of here.”

      She yanked the seat belt down to the latch, and once he heard it click, he turned the key in the ignition.

      He pulled to the parking lot exit then waited for traffic—a single school bus full of kindergarteners.

      “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where we’re headed next,” she said.

      “You suppose right. Your best plan is to get some more of that beauty sleep you’ve been catching up on. Who knows what’s going to happen even ten minutes from now.”

      They drove again in that uneasy quiet he’d come to expect. How could he tell her he was winging it? That he didn’t have a plan besides making sure no one followed? That wouldn’t reassure her. It didn’t make him feel all that great either, but under the circumstances, it was the best he could do.

      When he couldn’t stand the stony look on her face and her shrieking silence for another minute, he turned on the radio. Although he’d never gotten into the sports-over-the-radio deal—no visuals—he found a station that offered kick-by-kick coverage of a soccer game somewhere in the Hispanic world. Even the loud, heartbeat-like drumming in the background was better than the thick, uneasy stillness.

      The hysterical cries of “Gol, gol, gol” when either team scored provided a weird kind of punctuation for the afternoon. When the game ended, he frantically searched for a classical music station.

      Then the sun finally began its descent toward the horizon. That simple reality forced him to face the need to come up with another meal option and overnight choice. He couldn’t drive all night after driving all day. He’d only snagged about three hours’ sleep the night before. The way he saw it, he had no choice but to find an out-of-the-way motel, nothing like the famous chains that everyone recognized.

      “Um…”

      Carlie’s murmur caught his otherwise-engaged attention. “What’s up?”

      “You’ve worn this fierce expression for hours now. Tell me it has something to do with my next meal and a place to take a hot shower.”

      He chuckled. “Believe it or not, that’s exactly what’s been on my mind.”

      “How so?”

      “More than food, we need to find a safe place to stay the night. I have to catch some sleep so I can continue driving—”

      “I’ve told you I’m a great driver, but you just won’t share. You could have taken a nap anytime today.”

      “You’re getting over a concussion. How can you drive long distance?” He gave her an exasperated glare. “I’d rather drive till I drop than nap and find myself wrapped around the nearest lamppost. Your rattled brain could wig out on us anytime.”

      “I’d rather trust my rattled brain than ride next to a guy who’s sleep deprived. Doctors have proved that a sleep-deprived brain behind the wheel is the equivalent of an intoxicated brain.”

      He sighed. “We’re not going to discuss the merits of medical studies. We’re going to focus on finding a motel.”

      “Fine. I know we’ve passed a couple of cute ones along the way. I just hope we haven’t run out of luck on that regard—”

      “Nope. Look to your right. And the best part about it is that across the road there’s a—”

      “Wow! A real diner. The kind with the shiny metal building! I didn’t know those still existed.”

      He clicked on his turn signal. “You never know what you’ll find along a back road. There are still diners in Pennsylvania. I suppose North Carolina’s the same.”

      “So that’s where we are.” She grinned. “You let the cat out of the bag. Uh-oh! Carlie now knows where she is!”

      Dan had never rolled his eyes this much in his whole life. It was contagious—he’d caught it from her. “I’m going to trust you to keep your mouth full of food. That way you won’t blab. Then sleep should do the trick for a few hours overnight. After that, I’ll have you so lost, you won’t know what hit you.”

      “I’m going to assume you think you’re being cute.”

      “No. Just dealing with you the best I can.”

      “Let’s eat.”

      “Well, well, well,” Dan said as he parked in the diner’s lot. “We have to mark this moment. Our first agreement so far! I hope it’s a sign of more harmony to come.”

      The truce of sorts lasted through dinner. Carlie oohed and aahed over meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, creamed corn, buttered peas and apple pie with vanilla ice cream. Dan had to agree that the meal came close to Mrs. Miller’s supper. And he did love comfort food.

      Then they drove across the street. In the motel’s tiny lobby, they both endured the owner’s scrutiny. After all, how many couples their age asked for separate rooms in an out-of-the-way place? The discomfort, however, was nothing compared to what he’d feel if Carlie were harmed.

      Once in his room, he enjoyed every second of a quick shower. And then he collapsed on the surprisingly welcoming bed.

      Nothing woke him until the alarm rang. Tendrils of sunlight slipped around the blue and gold curtains on the window.

      He dressed, threw his few belongings in the duffel bag he always kept in the trunk of his Bureau-issue car, and headed out. He fully intended to knock on Carlie’s door, but the sound of laughter out in the parking lot derailed his intentions.

      What he saw left him stumped. Three children, all of whom appeared to be under the age of ten, two girls and a toddler boy, had drawn a chalk hopscotch on the asphalt. The oldest girl threw a round rock to one of the squares then hopped one-legged in the traditional steps of the game.

      But the kids weren’t the ones who’d caught his attention. The woman cheering the girl, however, was. Carlie had pulled her long, blond mane into a ponytail, and despite her high heels, looked more like a young babysitter than the widow of a shady character.

      Her eyes sparkled in the morning sunshine; her cheeks wore a soft rose tint; her voice rang with enthusiasm; her slim body looked ready to take on the game—and win.

      There