Collision Course

Chapter 7

Raising her eyes to his, she swallowed another sigh. The man was s*x on the hoof. Tall, with thick dark hair, midnight eyes and high slashes for cheekbones. All muscle. She could practically smell the testosterone seeping from his body.

So why didn't he interest her? Had the unpleasant remnants of Paul Marsden's betrayal closed her off from the possibility of another relationship? Or worse yet, had she lost her appetite for men completely?

"Sorry," she said, raising her eyes to his. "Just lost in my own thoughts."

"They must be pretty mind-boggling," he joked.

"Not so much. So what can I do for you, Sheriff?"

"Ben, please. And I wanted to see if you'd stop by the office later and talk about staking a volunteer position."

She lifted an eyebrow. "You and Ira Willoughby been having conversations about me?"

He eyed her quizzically. "What makes you say that?"

"I spent some time at the range earlier, and he talked to me about the same thing. Do y'all think I need something to do?"

"I have no idea what you mean." But a hint of a smile teased at his mouth. "Could you take a minute and come by? Maybe when you get a break before the dinner crowd. We could catch a cup of coffee someplace."

Casey burst out laughing. "Ben, I live in a swimming pool of coffee all day long. Besides, if we went anywhere else, my folks would never speak to either one of us again."

"Well, hell. You're right. Sorry. But will you come by and check it out?" His

face sobered. "Crime's pretty low in the county but we get a lot of malicious mischief s**t and someone with your skills could be a big help."

Casey considered. Should she? She'd have to make it absolutely clear she wasn't interested in anything but the work. Period. And it would fill up some of the empty space in her life. Give her less time to wallow in her own misery.

"Sure. Okay. Around three-thirty. Sound okay with you?"

"Absolutely. See you then." He winked at her as he put his hat on then walked away.

Winked!

He'd better not be getting any ideas.

She checked the flavoring syrup containers to be sure they were filled and there was plenty of milk in the small fridge behind the counter. When the lunch rush ended, she poured two cups of coffee

-one for herself and one for her mother-and took them both out to the cash register. They always found a few minutes to chat at this time of day. And talking to Claire McIntyre often helped to clear the mud from her mind.

*****

By eight o'clock, Trey couldn't sit still any longer. He saw shadows in every corner and each sound outside made his stomach knot. He felt like a trapped rat in the motel room, convinced Bennett or whoever he might send waited for him right outside the door. A crazy idea brought on by his bad case of nerves. No way could anyone could have tracked him so fast but he couldn't keep from jumping at everything.

As twitchy as he was, he decided to forego shaving, afraid he might end up cutting his throat. He showered, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and packed up his gear.

When he exited his room, he scanned the area before getting into his car. Pulling onto the street, he watched his rearview and side mirrors for any car following too closely. He killed a little time at a fast food drive-through to get coffee then sat in their lot drinking it. He reached the bank without noticing any tail so he parked in the rear. Only a few minutes to opening. Alert to his surroundings, he checked out every car pulling into the parking area. So far, nothing sent up warning flares.

At nine on the dot, a man in a shirt and tie came to unlock the bank's rear door. Trey lifted his duffle, which now also held his laptop, and jogged into the bank. He'd decided since Bennett would have put a track on his account anyway, he'd just leave his car in the parking lot. He could catch a cab from the street or, better yet, he'd seen a bus stop right in front. Much more anonymous.

Getting the money turned out to be more of a hassle than he expected. Why was it when a person wanted to make a large withdrawal you practically had to bring a note from his mother? But at last he had the cash he asked for. Stepping to the side, he put a couple of hundred in his wallet and the rest in the duffel beneath his clothes.

He was headed for the front door and the nearest bus stop when a man entered, gaze fixed on Trey then shifting away at once. Uh oh. When the man pulled a picture from his pocket and studied it, as if comparing the faces, warning flares went up in Trey's brain.

Shit! How the f**k had they found him?

Okay, he'd worry about that later. Right now he needed to get the hell away from the guy. He eased toward the rear of the bank, putting the early morning crowd between himself and the men. In the corridor, he put on speed and sprinted for the back door, knocking over a display rack of brochures to place an obstacle in their path and slow them down.

But when he pushed the door open, he found another man standing by his car.

Shit!

Pivoting, he raced around the corner and down the alley between the bank and the next building. Fate smiled on him. A bus had just pulled up to the stop and passengers spilled from the open door. Trey pushed past them and leaped into the vehicle, pulling some loose change from his pocket.

"You paid too much," the driver told him, his voice surly as if Trey was deliberately annoying him.

"I don't care. Keep the change. Just get the bus moving."

He found an empty seat by the door and glanced out the rear window. The two men had just made it to the front of the bank. They'd need time to get to their car and then try to follow the bus. He figured he had scant minutes before they were tight on his tail. At that moment the driver turned a corner and pulled to a stop halfway down the block. Trey leaped off and ran into the first office building he came to. He watched as the bus pulled away but there didn't seem to be a car attached to its rear.

When he was positive he hadn't been followed, he walked two blocks to the entrance of a new hotel. He could catch a cab there and have it take him to the bus station. There weren't many people waiting for transportation at the hotel so he had a taxi within five minutes.

"Greyhound station," he told the driver.

The man turned to stare at him. "You want to take a cab to the bus station?"

"It's better than walking. Can we get moving?"

He shrugged. "You pay, I go."

Trey reclined in his seat, knowing he wouldn't take a full breath until he was safely out of town.