Finders Keepers. Shirl Henke

rolled on her side and stared across the darkness separating them. “I was playing an Ella Fitzgerald CD of Cole Porter’s hits. I like his music.” The minute she replied, she could’ve kicked herself. Not smart to get involved, especially in a snatch as unorthodox as this one.

      “Me, too. My favorite’s ‘Night and Day.’”

      Too late now. She replied, “Hmm. I’d never have taken you for a romantic. Mine’s ‘Love for Sale.’” His soft chuckle caught her by surprise.

      “Certainly it is.”

      Damn the man. So she was mercenary. So what? A girl from South Boston didn’t have all that many options, unless she considered driving over the road with Uncle Declan. But Sam would be damned if she explained herself to a preppy-turned-reporter like Matt Granger. In a few minutes she could hear the sound of soft male snoring blending with the wheeze of the air conditioner.

      She lay in her bed staring at the ceiling, wide-awake.

      Chapter 2

      “Rise and shine, Prince Charming. It’s time to hit the road for Boston.”

      Matt opened one eye and blinked at Sam, then pulled the pillow over his head, muttering through the feathers, “Go away, Fairy Godmother.”

      “My, aren’t we testy this morning. You had a good night’s sleep.” She tried to sound self-satisfied but knew it ended up coming out with too much edge.

      He tossed the pillow to the foot of the bed and stared balefully at her. Sam Ballanger looked like she hadn’t gotten one wink last night. Maybe the advantage he needed? Matt decided to push the envelope. “Cranky as hell, huh? I offered to help, but nooo, Ms. Medical Professional, you had to stand on principle…or should I say lie on it?” He grinned at her and watched her seethe.

      “Your snoring carried all the way to the Continental Divide. That’s what kept me awake,” she shot back. “Believe it or not, you’re not that irresistible. In my book, no man that badly in need of rhinoplasty is.”

      “Liar. I snore soft like a baby.”

      She tossed the key onto his bed and shrugged casually. “Just get up and head for the bathroom.”

      He shoved the sheet down to his waist and rubbed his hand over his right deltoid muscle. “You should try sleeping with one arm cuffed to a bed frame sometime. I probably have a dislocated shoulder. Now, if you were really a trained medical professional, you’d know how to kiss it and make it well…”

      “Very funny, Mr. Granger. Now please move it,” she said in what she hoped was a bored voice. “While you take care of necessities, I’ll get us some breakfast from the vending machines in the motel office.”

      “Sounds yummy,” he groused, still lying flat on the lumpy mattress.

      “Beggars can’t be choosers,” she replied cheerfully.

      “I thought I was a ‘patient,’ not a beggar.”

      “Quit stalling. We need to be on the road within half an hour if we’re going to make it anywhere near Denver by tonight.” She waved the stun gun just to emphasize her point. She could see him glance away from it to the table where she’d laid out the sleep mask, bandages and a roll of medical tape.

      Matt could also see that the jim-dandy custom straitjacket was draped over the back of the chair. One more day’s ride locked in solitaire and his reflexes would be so shot that he’d never be able to take her. Still, there was the fitting on the gooseneck pipe under the bathroom sink…

      Sam pointed to a small vinyl zipper bag lying on the top of the battered old television and said simply, “Toiletry items.”

      “How the hell am I supposed to brush my teeth, not to mention shave or take a shower, with my right hand cuffed to the drainpipe?”

      “No showers, Mr. Granger. We’ll both get a little ripe before we reach Boston. For the rest, you’re a big boy. Be resourceful and you’ll figure it out.”

      I’ll be a hell of a lot more resourceful than you’d ever imagine, Sammie, babe. Matt let her lock him in the bathroom. He always thought clearer on an empty bladder.

      While he was taking care of business in the other room, she peered through a broken slat in the blinds. No one in sight. Might as well go to the office and see what she could scare up for breakfast.

      When Matt heard the outside door close, he fleetingly considered yelling his lungs out for help. But then he recalled that she’d told him they were the only customers in the fleabag. Probably true. Even if he could make himself heard over the blaring TV, it was doubtful a desk clerk in a dive like this would give a shit. Even if he did, “Nurse Ratchet” would make him believe her poor “patient” was having a seizure or a conversation with Bart Simpson.

      Matt set to work on the gooseneck pipe. “Great. Everything in this dump is made of Lego blocks except the plumbing. Which is made of friggin’ Swedish steel!” He grunted, red faced with strain, wrapping both hands around the connection to give it one last desperate try. No go. He needed something for leverage. “Not even a Boy Scout would carry a pipe wrench in his jammies,” he muttered savagely as his eyes swept frantically around the small mold-encrusted room for anything he could reach that might help.

      That’s when he saw it. A rusty old C-clamp holding together the broken curtain rod over the window. It was partially obscured by the hideous blue-and-orange plastic ruffle and a generous layer of cobwebs. Matt Granger was a tall man with long arms to match his lanky frame. But stretch as he might, his fingertips could only come within six inches of the damn clamp. He yanked on the ruffled “window treatment,” hoping to rip the rod loose from its mooring. No go, again.

      With a sickening thwap the rotted brittle plastic flew off the rod, smacking him in the face with sticky cobwebs. Snarling an oath about spider spit, he threw the filthy monstrosity into the tub and pulled the shower curtain closed to cover it up. Then he wiped up the mess around the sink and in his hair, praying she wouldn’t notice the missing plastic ruffle on the window. No sense giving Sam any ideas about checking out the next accommodations more thoroughly than she had these. Then he heard the front door open.

      “Ready or not, here I come,” she sang out.

      Matt decided if he was ever going to get away from this single-minded broad, he’d better take his chance now. Just thinking of her little “object lesson” with the stun gun made him wince, but what the hell. She’d have to move in real close to use it—not that he doubted for one instant she’d hesitate. Still, he reasoned, he was a big man and she was a small woman. How hard could it be to overpower her before she got a shot at him? Trained medical professional. He snorted as the bathroom door opened.

      “All I could get was a carafe of their coffee and a couple packages of cake doughnuts, artifacts that must’ve been in the vending machine since the dawn of automation.” Sam glanced at his bare chest and the droplets of water dripping from his hair and face onto those broad shoulders. No good, Ballanger. Ah, not good, but beautiful. She tossed him the key and spun around, stalking out of the doorway to wait while he unlocked the cuff.

      Matt noted the way she’d looked at him. Maybe he could give good old lust one last college try before chancing the stun gun. “Coffee smells good,” he said. In fact, it smelled like a blend of road tar and battery acid, but he was used to the stuff in the Herald’s newsroom, which was even worse.

      When he reached for his clothes, piled in a heap on the floor, Sam said, “No. Leave them. I’ll put them in the van later.”

      He gave her a quizzical look, then grinned. This was working out even better than he’d hoped.

      “Put on the pj’s again and slip on the robe and house shoes. It looks more convincing if a patient’s not dressed in street clothes,” she explained quickly, too quickly.

      “So much for romance,” he mumbled as he reached for the discarded pajamas and coarse terry robe, taking